


sleeping wolf, won't you wake up?

by suheafoams



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alpha x Alpha, Alpha!Yonghoon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Biting, Edging, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Mentions of Blood, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves, alpha!dongju, alpha!dongmyeong, alpha!geonhak, alpha!hwanwoong, alpha!seoho, mentioned abuse of (fictional) pharmaceutical drugs, omega!ravn, verse!seodo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: Geonhak has always been drawn to Seoho, even if he's never understood why.(There is no universe in which Geonhak wouldn't grant Seoho absolution, and he wonders if the wolves who dream of destined pairs know that the consequences of falling in love this way are much more catastrophic.)
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho, mentioned!hwanwoong/ravn
Comments: 78
Kudos: 321





	sleeping wolf, won't you wake up?

**Author's Note:**

> hi! (sry long beginning note incoming for those of u who actually read these) 
> 
> omegaverse is something i hesitate to write and post bc i've had negative experiences in the past regarding how people responded to my work, and it's never nice to put your heart into a big project only for people to dismiss it or criticize it because of their personal preferences! fics don't come from a giant void that serves to please you as an individual, they're written by real people with feelings, insecurities, and typically heartfelt intentions. therefore, be gentle with your fandom creators! (and creators in general) 
> 
> to me, a/b/o is polarizing in terms of whether people find it "weird" or not because it can bring out uncomfortable/internalized concepts about what society has conditioned us into thinking about gender, power dynamics, sexuality, class structure, etc. that being said, this project was just about me wanting to write wolf boyos seodo falling in love (LOL) and it's super self indulgent in that i've customized this universe to highlight all the things i like focusing on in omegaverse. 
> 
> some disclaimers:  
> -there's some loose but not super extensive/consistent worldbuilding/rules laid out  
> -no knots  
> -massive liberties have been taken on anything mentioned regarding the healthcare industry/aspects of this story so if you're a chem or bio major or lord, doctor?? reading this, i apologize  
> -everything else has been tagged i think! the "mentioned abuse of pharmaceutical drugs" is referring to an individual's personal decisions and it does not affect their ability to give consent~ 
> 
> anyways i hope that this is a fun read for those of you who are interested in checking this out! :>

The student Geonhak is tutoring this afternoon, Yubin, has left him temporarily to print out the essay that she wants him to proofread and give feedback on, and he twirls his pen idly in his hand as he waits. He’s gently reminded her more than once that it’s a waste of her money and time if she prints it out _after_ their sessions start and not beforehand, but he’s too softhearted to be strict with time and usually allows her a few extra minutes if she really needs the help. 

At the next table over, two girls are whispering animatedly as they press their faces close together to look at the same phone screen, which is playing a video Geonhak can’t quite make out the audio of even if his hearing is above average. 

One of them is significantly taller despite both of them sitting down, and she’s the one wrinkling her nose as she asks, “Isn’t it kind of an outdated idea?” 

“I think it’s cute,” the shorter girl says. “Like having another half of you, without having to date people one after the other and figure out whether they’re _the_ one, you know? You just see the person and feel they’re right.” 

_Ah,_ Geonhak thinks to himself. They’re talking about mates. 

It’s a recurring theme in movies and tv shows, the idea that every person has one and only one destined mate out of all the people in the world. Someone with a scent that calls out to you the moment you meet them, someone who gives you an instant feeling of _home_ even if you’re standing in the middle of a crowd of thousands. 

Nice in theory, but impractical in real life, considering the ideal relationship of _mates_ portrayed in media only ever involves an alpha and omega when betas make up the largest portion of the werewolf population. Geonhak isn’t hopeless enough of a romantic to rely on an ambiguous feeling of destiny to decide whether he wants to be with someone when he’s never been taught to recognize it. 

And the reality is that werewolves have long passed the need for instinct in regards to mating. Mated pairs have become more intent-based rather than a biological inevitability, happening as long as both parties want it instead of in undesirable situations where there’s a definitive imbalance of power. 

“I’d want to make my own choice,” the taller girl says. She tucks a loose section of hair behind her ear, and from the way she’s looking at the shorter one, it’s obvious she’s trying to say something else despite their conversation remaining theoretical. “It’s probably an urban legend, anyways, created to make people complacent with whoever’s pushy enough. Don’t you want someone to choose you because they truly want you, not because you smell like you’re the one for them?”

“Yeah, but if you’re _made_ for each other, you’d choose each other because it was built in fate to begin with,” the shorter girl says, and she sighs wistfully, letting go of her side of the phone and leaning back in her chair. “Don’t you think Seoho would be nice as a mate?” 

“Seoho Lee?”

The mention of that name makes Geonhak’s dwindling interest in the conversation reignite, and he chews at his pen as he considers whether the girls are in the same literature major as Seoho. 

A wolf with eyes that curve like waning moons and a mouth that leans almost too feline whenever he smiles in amusement. Friendly, intelligent, and easygoing, Seoho loves to tease just as much as he loves making people comfortable, and Geonhak had taken a liking to him almost immediately when they’d initially been introduced to each other through mutual friends. 

Seoho had never given him a chance to get too close, though, despite how well they got along at first, and for reasons unknown, he’d started forcing a distance between them that Geonhak had recognized as a clear intention to drift. 

It’s not like Seoho ignores Geonhak or anything now, though. In the few instances he feels inclined to draw Geonhak into conversation, he’s remained ever polite and friendly, even occasionally making a remark about Geonhak’s popularity just to get a rise out of Geonhak and embarrass him. 

Despite the superficial banter, Geonhak can always see the end to their conversations before they happen, can sense Seoho pushing him away before he can attempt to pull Seoho in. He doesn’t have to be told to his face to remain where he’s allowed like a puppy being told to _heel_ , so Geonhak locks the interest up in an airtight box every time Seoho gets too close and pretends he doesn’t care about being left behind by someone who never let him in. 

It’s obvious that the taller girl’s mood sours at the mention of Seoho, her hinted interest and potential confession glossed over as the subject shifts in a totally different direction, and Geonhak almost wants to laugh at how oblivious the shorter girl is. “Do you still think he’s an alpha?” she asks. 

That, too, is what makes Seoho a little mysterious to Geonhak. Seoho exhibits the easy charisma of an alpha, drawing attention anytime he lets his presence be known, but he’s not very open about himself even if he’s friendly. Several traits point to him being a beta: the fact that no one has ever seen his eyes change color in a display of strong emotion, the cooling, almost neutral scent very few people can even detect on him, and the soothing energy he radiates that allows nearly all omegas and alphas to interact with him without any issues. 

Even then, rumors and speculation still fly every time alpha rut season rolls around and Seoho doesn’t show up for a few days, and it makes Geonhak think that people are more fascinated with keeping Seoho mysterious than they are interested in the truth behind his status. After all, Seoho has friends who are probably more than willing to divulge information on him as long as it’s not too invasive, but it doesn’t seem like anyone has taken the liberty of simply _asking._

“I don’t really care what he is, although it’d be nice if he _was_ an alpha,” the shorter girl says. Geonhak stops chewing on his pen, and notes that he’s left a sizable dent in the hard plastic of the pen’s cap. “But he’s funny, and well mannered. And so pretty.” 

“I’m sure all you’re thinking about is how pretty he is, with that rat brain of yours,” the taller girl says. Her gaze drifts over to Geonhak, who immediately pretends to look busy by shuffling a few of his papers and redirecting his attention to his open laptop. “If you’re looking for someone _pretty_ , there’s plenty of alphas in our university who fit that mold, aren’t there?” 

“Oh?” the shorter girl says, before she pauses, and Geonhak doesn’t need heightened werewolf senses to know that she’s looking at him. She lowers her voice, but it’s futile. “The one with gray hair and piercings? He’s pretty, but scary.” 

Geonhak tries his best to be inconspicuous as he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up and slouches in his chair, heat diffusing through his ears. The taller girl whispers, “He’s one of the good ones, though? Dongju’s friends with him, and Dongju doesn’t touch alphas with a ten foot pole if they have even a hint of a superiority complex.” 

It’s at that moment that Yubin flings herself across Geonhak’s peripheral vision, her essay still in separate sheets and unstapled, and Geonhak’s never been more grateful for a student’s arrival even if this one is a storm of a pupil. “Sorry I took so long, Mr. Geonhak,” Yubin says. “The printer broke, and then I had to get the librarian’s help, and then—” 

“I’m only two years older than you, Yubin,” Geonhak says, laughing. She’s so clumsy, and they’ve known each other long enough that he almost wants to ruffle her hair and tell her that it’s okay to slow down every now and then. “You don’t need to add the ‘Mister.’” 

“Okay,” she says, still catching her breath. Then she looks at her chunky wristwatch, which looks so heavy duty that it could probably be dragged to the bottom of the ocean and still come back up functional. “Oh man, class is in an hour. Do you think that’s enough time for you to look through this, for me to edit and then reprint?” 

“I don’t know,” Geonhak replies, and she makes a quiet squawk at him. “Is it?” 

“Please help me,” she says miserably. “I read a Korean translation of the assigned reading, and I _still_ don’t know what the hell the manifesto was trying to say.” 

“Understandable, don’t worry,” Geonhak says, sliding her papers across the table and rotating them so they’re right side up for him. When he smiles at her, she looks like a puppy who’d expected to be scolded and has received head pats of encouragement instead. “I’ll take a look, and we can go from there.” 

Thankfully, they finish with five minutes left in the session and twenty minutes to spare before Yubin’s class starts, so she dashes off with her backpack hanging off of her shoulder by one strap to make the appropriate corrections on her essay in a different computer lab and print it out.

That leaves Geonhak free to leave, and while he packs up his belongings, he stares out into the distance through the glass walls of the second floor of the library building. It’s late afternoon and the sun hasn’t set yet, but the typical blue of the sky has been stained with a wash of pink and purple, and thick, textured clouds are rolling in. 

He observes it with mild curiosity, but doesn’t feel inclined to pull his phone out and search up potential explanations for today’s unconventional weather patterns. Weather apps rarely ever get the forecasts for this area right anyway, and Geonhak is more interested in figuring out his options for dinner. 

◐ ◐ ◐

When someone collides with Geonhak right as he exits the library, he barely registers what’s going on before they’re collapsing into him, too, all the strength draining from their body while Geonhak’s arms shoot out to hold them up. 

A scent equally unfamiliar as it is familiar has him furrowing his brows in confusion, a mix of sweet smoke and spiced coffee overwhelming enough at such close range that it makes the soft hairs on the back of his neck rise and his jaw clench immediately once realization sinks in. 

_An alpha in rut._

It doesn’t make sense that he picks up on it so fast, or that he picks up on it at all. Geonhak has only ever read about this sort of thing in obscure article threads on the Internet, alphas being affected by other alphas going into the equivalent of omega heats, and even then, those threads had been flooded with comments of people more interested in alpha-on-alpha porn than any real life situations or the complicated questions left unanswered behind a biological reaction that shouldn’t exist to begin with. 

More perplexing is the fact that Geonhak is rarely affected on a base need level even when he can detect oncoming heats from omegas, and the presence of an alpha going into rut is more likely to make him become violent than anything else if he’s learned anything from the brief mentions of special case scenarios in his textbooks. Geonhak’s reaction isn’t violent, that’s for sure, but it certainly is _visceral,_ and he pulls back even as he continues holding onto the alpha before their pheromones send him reeling further. 

Then he takes in the slightly curled black hair, the defined Cupid’s bow of lips he’d recognize anywhere even if they’re currently pulled into an uncharacteristic snarl, and realizes _who_ it is that’s ended up in his arms. 

“Seoho?” 

In the face of one question answered, several more have emerged. Geonhak had no expectations to ever find out the nature of Seoho’s status, and the timing of this discovery makes it hard to dissect when Seoho’s in a weakened state and hanging onto him for support. Geonhak glances around to see if anyone’s seen them, but he’d exited the library from the back entrance to use the shortcut few people know about so it’s just him and Seoho for now. 

Seoho finally glances up at him, eyes clouded over, and Geonhak gasps. 

Instead of their usual dark brown, almost black color, Seoho’s irises are a piercing mix between pale blue and silver. Compared to omegas, whose eyes shift gold, and betas, whose eyes don't shift color at all, alphas are unique in that their shifted iris colors vary widely depending on their bloodlines. Red is the most common, with blues and purples following closely behind in prevalence, but Geonhak has never seen an alpha with pale, icy eyes like Seoho. 

Seoho’s perception of everything right now must be foggy, but there’s still enough of him there that he surveys Geonhak with a searching gaze, voice shaky as he says, “Geonhak?” 

“Yeah,” Geonhak says. He’s a little numb because he’s never seen Seoho anything less than perfectly composed, and it feels like if he’s not careful to manage his emotions, Seoho’s rut could set him off too, into a pseudo-rut. “You’re in—” 

“Let go,” Seoho hisses suddenly. Being told something like that would make Geonhak scowl in any other situation, but Seoho’s reaction is understandable, and his eyes flicker between Geonhak and every other direction as if he’s a wild animal trying to break out of captivity. He says it so urgently that Geonhak immediately drags him over to the nearest wall so that he can let go of Seoho without Seoho crumpling to the ground. 

Seoho’s still clutching at Geonhak’s shirt, though, like he’s searching for something to anchor himself, and Geonhak raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to let go of me yourself, too, if you want me off of you that badly,” Geonhak says. 

Seoho makes an annoyed noise, but when he lets go, Geonhak sees that Seoho’s claws are starting to extend and that means he’s going to hurt himself if he tries to curl his hands into fists. “Wait, nevermind, don’t let go,” Geonhak says, prying Seoho’s hands open and pulling them close to him so that Seoho can hold onto his clothes again before Seoho ends up piercing the skin of his own palms. 

“I’m fine.” 

Unconvinced, Geonhak gives him a blank look. “You’re in rut.” Not fine at all, especially considering the severity and speed with which Seoho is shifting. 

“Clearly,” Seoho says, the sharpness of his irritation worn away at the edges by how… helpless he looks. “It set off early.” He stands up straighter, but his vision still isn’t focusing, and Geonhak has to breathe from his mouth to avoid picking up on any more of Seoho’s rapidly intensifying pheromones. “Sorry, I’ll be fine on my own, so…” 

“You’re going to attract too much attention by yourself,” Geonhak says. Despite the perks that come with being an alpha in their society, protocol is still to toss an unhinged alpha in rut into the closest hospital where they’ll keep the alpha in an isolated room with a cocktail of drugs to sedate them. For some reason, imagining someone else discovering Seoho in this state and attempting to bring him to a hospital where he’ll end up alone and uncomfortable and delirious makes possessiveness bubble up to the back of Geonhak’s throat, and now he really doesn’t want to let Seoho out of his sight. “Let me help you.” 

Anger flares up in both Seoho’s scent and facial expression. There’s uncertainty there, too, along with fear, and it’s overwhelming because Geonhak can’t understand the reasoning behind those emotions nor the order that they occur in. “You don’t have to help me just because you were passing by.” 

“You might not like me, but I’m not going to leave you alone because you could end up forced into isolation at a hospital for the entirety of your rut,” Geonhak says, and Seoho’s gaze changes at the word _hospital._

Seoho seems to weigh his options, and he pauses long enough that Geonhak almost gets annoyed at the implication that his help is just as dreadful as a hospital visit. 

“I don’t dislike you,” Seoho eventually says through clenched teeth, closing his eyes. A sign of trust. His shoulders relax slightly, and it means he’s willing to listen to Geonhak for now. 

“Where’s your stuff?” Geonhak asks. “Do you have suppressants?” 

“All my stuff is in my locker, on the ground floor hallway of the East wing,” Seoho says. “Backpack. Suppressants, too.” 

“Okay,” Geonhak says. “Give me the number and the passcode, and I’ll get them for you.” 

“Locker number is 527,” Seoho says. “Passcode on my lock is 62-7-0. The suppressants are in a long metal container, on the top shelf in the far right corner.” Something about that passcode makes Geonhak’s brain turn a gear or two, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long, more preoccupied with making sure Seoho’s going to be okay in the few minutes that Geonhak is going to leave him alone to go to Seoho’s locker. 

When Geonhak returns with Seoho’s backpack and the slim, metal container, he finds Seoho just as he left him, albeit a little more tired looking and frayed on the edges. He drops Seoho’s backpack down on the ground next to Seoho, and hands the metal box over. “Here.” 

“Don’t look,” Seoho says as he unclasps the locking device on the container, and that has Geonhak furrowing his brows in confusion. 

“What?” 

“You’re squeamish,” Seoho says. 

Geonhak narrows his eyes. That’s a trait his family and close friends know about, but it’s not information that would come up in casual conversation with anyone outside of that tight knit social circle. “How do you know that?” 

“Does it matter?” Seoho’s mouth pulls into a thin line as he flips the lid upwards, and then Geonhak sees what’s in the container. Not pills in a smaller container, as he’d initially expected, but a syringe. A glint of needle, and teal liquid inside the barrel. 

It’s almost unheard of for suppressants to be taken in any way other than orally, even if these seem to be the ones that are taken last minute and not on a regular schedule. Geonhak can’t help being...concerned, but he figures it’s not the first time Seoho has done this, and he dutifully looks away, wincing when he hears Seoho make an aborted, quiet exhale of discomfort as he administers the shot on himself. 

“Done,” Seoho says a few seconds later. His eyes are brown again, when Geonhak turns to look at him, clarity settling into his features as a sliver of his usual self returns. 

Geonhak picks up Seoho’s backpack by the handle and swings it so that it’s hanging off of his own backpack, keeping his other arm free to support Seoho in case Seoho needs it. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“I drove here, though.” 

“You think you’re in a state to drive right now?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho stares at him in a way that can only be described as petulant. Seoho is surprisingly honest with his emotions when they’re the negative kind, but it could also be the rut talking and making him far less inhibited. “Suppressants are to manage the symptoms of the heat, not work miracles.” 

“I know that,” Seoho says, attitude souring. “You’re so pushy.” 

“I’d be less so if you weren’t so intent on getting yourself into trouble,” Geonhak replies. 

“I can take care of myself just fine. You’ve done enough,” Seoho says. “Doesn’t being so charitable towards anyone and everyone that falls in your path take a toll on you?” 

His scent’s starting to dull down, and the results of whatever medicine he’d taken just now are too all-encompassing for Geonhak not to grow suspicious, considering he’s never come into contact with suppressants that include scent blocking, too, and not at that speed. 

“If it were anyone else,” Geonhak says mildly, “I’d be handing them off to the school nurse or calling an Uber for them to get home.” 

Seoho studies him for a long moment, like he’s deciding whether he wants to ask what Geonhak means before sighing in defeat. “Fine,” Seoho says. “Where’s your car?” 

“In the south parking lot,” Geonhak says. “Give me your address.” 

Seoho shares an apartment with Hwanwoong, apparently, which surprises Geonhak given his newfound knowledge regarding Seoho’s status even though he knows Hwanwoong is a close friend of Seoho’s. Alphas tend not to deal well living in the same space, especially younger ones, and it’s well known that Hwanwoong is practically bonded to Youngjo, an omega with whom he’s been in a relationship for nearly two years. 

It’s supposed to be a twenty minute drive, give or take ten minutes depending on traffic, but they’re barely two miles away from the school when things go awry. 

Geonhak smells it again, that smoke, and he opens his mouth to form his concern into a question the same moment that Seoho grinds out a quiet, restrained, “Pull over.” 

They’re in the right most lane, so it doesn’t take long for Geonhak to do exactly that. He doesn’t fight Seoho on the order because he knows something’s wrong, and he’d rather figure it out without having to keep his eyes on the road and pray that Seoho doesn’t maul him in anger. “What’s wrong?” 

“It wore off,” Seoho says. His claws have extended again, and they make a scratchy noise against the handle of the passenger side door as he tries to unlock it. “Why…” 

“Child safety locks,” Geonhak says, and Seoho gives him a betrayed look that Geonhak ignores. “What wore off?” 

“The suppressants,” Seoho says, voice going strained. “Let me out.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Geonhak says, bewildered. “You just took them.” 

“It doesn’t make sense to me, either,” Seoho snaps. “Geonhak, I can’t be in the same car with you.” 

Seoho curls in on himself, like a child tucking themselves into the dark refuge of blankets at the sign of a thunderstorm that won’t pass anytime soon. His eyelashes flutter as his eyes fluctuate between opening and squeezing shut, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when Geonhak rests his hand on Seoho’s thigh to weigh him down. Geonhak is not sure whether that’s the right course of action, but he can only rely on pure instinct at this point because there are no rules for situations like this one. 

It’s even more alarming when Geonhak realizes that Seoho’s scent has come back nearly twice as strong as when he’d collapsed into Geonhak outside the back of the library, since that indicates whatever results his suppressants had produced in such a short time have completely disappeared, leaving bigger consequences in their place to be dealt with. 

The thing with alpha ruts is that they’re unpredictable. Unlike omega heats, which only leave omegas more vulnerable to sexual advances if they’re not on suppressants or isolating at home, alpha ruts tend to leave alphas ricocheting between lust and violence. That’s why the measures against uncontained alphas in rut, even if they’re mostly in control, are usually of the offensive and preventative nature. 

“You can’t get out either because I don’t know what you’ll do,” Geonhak says, and Seoho makes a strangled, anguished sound. “What do you need from me?” 

A few cuts, fractures, broken bones, deep bite marks, he can handle. Geonhak’s healing time from injuries is further accelerated from how much he works out and his history as an all rounder athlete in high school, so he doesn’t really care if Seoho’s going to try and slice him up with his claws, but what worries him is whether Seoho’s aggravation is leaning towards the other extreme. While Geonhak has no issues with Seoho coming onto him, he’d really rather it not be in a car parked on a road with high traffic and eyes watching from all directions. 

Seoho’s breathing is shallow, gaze fixed on the dashboard like he’s trying to find something to focus on other than the hell his body is putting him through. There’s blood on his palms because he’s curled his hands into fists, and Geonhak can’t do anything to stop Seoho from doing that right now, not when he has to drive. 

There is no plausible way they’re going to make it to Seoho’s place without Seoho attempting to sink his claws knuckle deep into Geonhak. 

“I live alone,” Geonhak says. “Five to eight minutes from here. Do you think you can hold off from killing me until then?” 

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Seoho says sullenly, not looking at Geonhak. 

“Maybe not intentionally,” Geonhak says, and Seoho lets out a laugh, the first one Geonhak’s heard from him today even if it’s filled with pained amusement. “So? What’s the answer?” 

“Your place, then,” Seoho agrees. There’s something else in his voice that sounds off, but Geonhak doesn’t have the foresight to pay attention to what it might mean. From the moment he’d ran into Seoho earlier, nothing has been normal or ordinary, so this subconscious observation is filed away with all the other non-urgent ones for the time being. 

When they’ve arrived at Geonhak’s apartment building, Seoho is quiet as they take the elevator up to the third floor from the basement parking lot, shoving himself into the corner and standing behind Geonhak. They only have to share the elevator cab with a young woman for one level, a beta who lives on the first floor and doesn’t have much of a reaction to Seoho’s pheromones, just smiles at the two of them politely before stepping off. 

Geonhak can tell Seoho is boring holes into his back as he unlocks his front door, and it’s unnerving, but it doesn’t affect Geonhak’s routine ease with finding and using his keys. He steps inside, and Seoho wordlessly follows him, moving out of the way so that Geonhak can shut the door behind them. 

“Did you want to call your physician and see if you can get anything to help with whatever’s going on with your suppressants? A different prescription, or…?” He waits for an answer to his question until the silence stretches long enough that it means Seoho is ignoring him or he never heard Geonhak in the first place. 

When Geonhak turns to look at Seoho, however, he realizes Seoho’s demeanor has completely changed. 

Seoho’s irises are back to that pale blue-silver but his gaze is dark enough to smother Geonhak, and that makes Geonhak instinctively take a step back as the air grows thick and tense between them. _Smoke_ , Geonhak thinks, all other fragmented thoughts forgotten while he watches Seoho approach him with the calm agility of a predator closing in on his prey. 

“I thought it would be okay, but…” Seoho says, before he trails off. 

“But what?” 

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” Seoho says. 

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Geonhak says.

“You, of all people, should have left me alone. It would have saved you a lot of trouble and pain in more ways than one,” Seoho says, and Geonhak’s brow furrows. He doesn’t understand why Seoho is so against _him,_ specifically, and it feels a little like a slap to the face when he’s never purposely done anything to try and earn Seoho’s hostility. “Isn’t self preservation the first thing they taught us in those wolf alpha growth and development classes, Geonhak?”

“Why are you—”

Before Geonhak can finish his question, Seoho grabs a fistful of Geonhak’s t-shirt and doesn’t bother being careful as he throws Geonhak against the door hard enough that bones would have been broken on impact if Geonhak were human. Geonhak isn’t human, though, and the bruises that are forming on him right now will have faded and healed in a few hours, but he still grimaces at the pain of being tossed like a ragdoll, landing on the ground onto his elbows and hip after his back takes the hardest hit of that throw. 

The imminent threat of Seoho’s violent streak has Geonhak’s eyes flickering in between their default and altered colors as Seoho leans down and closes his claws around the column of Geonhak’s throat. If Geonhak lets himself shift to the extent that Seoho has, he’d be able to handle Seoho without any issues, but that strength comes with a total disregard for potential consequences and indifference to inflicting pain. 

Control. Restraint. Order. In a society that has prided itself on perfecting safety and harmony between alphas, betas, and omegas, Geonhak has been ingrained with these principles from the moment he was old enough to learn what heats were, but he’d never understood what it meant to be pushed to the edge or why there were occasional cases at school where an alpha would ever lose enough control to let themselves fully shift and wreak havoc. 

And yet, in the face of a wolf with frosty silver eyes and no warmth left in him except for the body heat bleeding out from his palm into Geonhak’s neck, with an inexplicably magnetic scent that keeps drawing Geonhak in even though he might get killed for pursuing it, Geonhak understands exactly what it feels like to lose all grip on reason and abandon all rationality. 

Geonhak raises his chin, exposing his neck. It’s a taboo gesture considering it’s the equivalent of surrendering to an alpha, but doing so allows him more breathing room while he lets his eyes shift fully, and the playing field is still even, because Seoho’s up against a wolf who can match him in both strength and discipline, not a lamb who’s going to crumple to the ground at the sight of Seoho’s vision going red. 

Upon seeing Geonhak’s irises, Seoho murmurs with interest, “Hazel?” 

“Yes,” Geonhak says. “Let go.” 

“They’re pretty,” Seoho says, voice lowering into a purr. Geonhak can’t tell whether he’s doing it on purpose to lull Geonhak into a false sense of security. Ruts are said to bring out an alpha’s true nature or turn them into a completely different person from who they really are, and Geonhak isn’t sure which of those applies to Seoho. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen hazel eyes up close. Why don’t you show them more often?” 

“Are you, of all people, really asking me that?” Geonhak asks. He’s not an open book and doesn’t express his emotions strongly enough to have more than a handful of people be aware of his altered eye color, but he’s also not the one whose status remains a mystery to the majority of the student body. “When no one knows that you’re an alpha?” 

“I’m a private person,” Seoho says. Geonhak doesn’t think that’s the only reason, but it’s more of a gut feeling than anything else. “It’s not a secret I tried very hard to keep, when so few people ask.” 

“Let go of me, Seoho,” Geonhak says. 

Seoho makes a face like he’s not in the mood to listen, and he doesn’t loosen his grip. Geonhak doesn’t feel particularly frightened, just cautious, because Seoho’s not tightening his hold on Geonhak’s neck even if he’s refusing to cooperate. Then Seoho taps once, twice, three times before dragging one long, sharp claw along the line of Geonhak’s jaw, down Geonhak’s neck before settling into the dip of skin in between Geonhak’s clavicles. 

“Why should I?” he asks. He leans in close enough that his breathy exhales are hot against Geonhak’s neck. “Did you expect to bring me onto your territory and have everything work out just fine~? When I’m in rut?” 

He’s staring up at Geonhak through his eyelashes, through the jet black strands of his wavy bangs. Seoho is both dangerous and enticing like this, his mind fully present even when his rut should have him losing his composure, and he has lost it, it’s just that a new, almost terrifying sort of self assurance has replaced it. Geonhak feels like every single point of intersection between their bodies is going to ignite if he doesn’t get away from Seoho immediately but he remains frozen in place, wary of making a wrong move.

“You were going to get both of us killed if I tried to drive you all the way to your place,” Geonhak says. 

“Which is why,” Seoho replies, baring teeth, “I told you not to do anything since the beginning. This is going to be far worse for you than it’s going to be for me.” 

And then he’s dragging Geonhak further into the apartment, in a half throw that’s still forceful enough to make Geonhak tumble across the floor, only coming to a stop when he rolls and hits one of the legs of his coffee table. 

Seoho presses him down so that Geonhak’s lying on his stomach and straddles him so that Geonhak can’t move away, lowering his head to nose at the shorter hairs tapering to soft fuzz on the back of Geonhak’s neck before assuming a route along the center line of it down to where the top of Geonhak’s spine starts. Seoho lets one hand splay flat against the hardwood floor next to Geonhak’s head while he lets the other one clutch at Geonhak’s left shoulder, and Geonhak can feel Seoho trembling ever so slightly. 

Seoho’s angry, Geonhak realizes. Struggling to cling at whatever control remains in him even as he’s pinned Geonhak down and given into the natural predator lying in his depths. 

The alarm bells start ringing in Geonhak’s brain when sharp, newly extended fangs graze the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck, heat of that breath and persistence of teeth Geonhak has only ever looked at and never felt on him hovering as if they’re trying to make a final decision. 

Seoho’s trying to _mark_ him. 

Geonhak’s heart races as he tries to make sense of it, head spinning with disjointed pieces of information he can recall over his years of reading up on unusual medical cases regarding werewolf pairs and mating. 

Spontaneous claims, if unwanted afterwards, are expensive and tedious to undo even in the best of hospitals, so alphas are conditioned from a young age to control the urge to mark an omega even under the heavy influence of pheromones and ragged, raw lust, but alphas are only ever taught to de-escalate conflicts of the violent kind in the event that they encounter an alpha in rut. At most, Geonhak has read about alphas choosing to spend ruts together, but that’s rare and he’s never heard of alphas who try to mark other alphas as theirs. 

But that’s the only reason Seoho would have gotten Geonhak on his stomach instead of his back. It’s instinctive for alphas to move their prey so that the prey is lying on their back with their stomach exposed, but that position makes it impossible to reach the target area of skin specific to making claiming bites, and for now, Seoho’s priorities clearly lie nowhere near getting Geonhak to roll over for him. 

The adrenaline rush kicks in when Geonhak realizes how many problems they could run into by toeing too close to something he’s not even sure is irreversible, and he barely registers his own body shifting out of defensive panic, claws and fangs extending in the same split second that Seoho makes an agonizing, conflicted noise and pulls himself off of the back of Geonhak’s neck. 

Neither of Geonhak’s arms are trapped or restrained, so in Seoho’s momentarily distracted state, Geonhak twists on his side and grabs Seoho by the bicep for some leverage before hurling Seoho off of him. Seconds later, Seoho is on Geonhak again, but it’s enough time for Geonhak to have maneuvered himself so that the back of his neck is out of Seoho’s reach. 

“Seoho,” Geonhak says, when Seoho wraps his claws around the side of Geonhak’s neck, pressing deep enough that red marks will be left behind but not actually piercing the skin. The feverish stage of his rut is starting, based on the look in his eyes, and it doesn’t help that Geonhak has shifted halfway to full form, too, because it makes him more prone to giving in to the impenetrable, syrupy cloud of Seoho’s pheromones that are surrounding him. “Do you even know what you’re—” 

Seoho seems to deliberate over it for a moment, before he redirects his mouth to the junction of clothed muscle between Geonhak’s neck and shoulder, tugging Geonhak’s collar as far as he can before he sinks his teeth deep enough to puncture the skin. The flame-like pain that instantly tears through Geonhak lets him know blood has been drawn, but it’s a shallow bite. An alternative to the claiming mark Seoho can’t make without having to go up against Geonhak’s elevated strength, and definitely not an act of violence or destruction to try and take Geonhak out. 

Seoho’s claws curl around the thickest part of Geonhak’s thigh when he pulls his mouth away from the landmark he’s made, and the stinging ache of where Geonhak’s been bitten transforms into something else he recognizes with half relief, half dread as it travels to the pit of his stomach and settles into heat that keeps twisting in on itself until it’s nearly all he can pay attention to. There’s an itch, too, building up in the sides of his jaw and the soft skin behind his ears, as he stares at the prominent vein running along the side of Seoho’s neck and the tinge of coral from Geonhak’s blood that has stained the tips of Seoho’s fangs, that makes it difficult for Geonhak to resist leaving a bite on Seoho that’ll scar for life. 

An eye for an eye, they say, but Geonhak idly wonders whether a mark for a mark in a struggle between alphas cancels out whatever bond that might have formed in between. 

One of Seoho’s claws now digs into Geonhak’s leg, a tactile reminder that temporarily draws Geonhak’s attention away from his unspoken desires. It’s scary, considering how coolheaded the two of them have been with each other up until this point, to acknowledge how much Seoho has worn away at him and how far Geonhak has fallen from the version of himself he thought he knew so well. 

Staring into Seoho’s glazed over but expectant eyes, Geonhak is left with only base instinct that urges him to pull Seoho closer and consume him until their wolves are bleeding into each other, scents mixing so deeply that they’ll be indistinguishable even when they eventually separate. 

“What is this…?” _feeling_ , Geonhak means, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish his question because Seoho opens his mouth to speak. 

“You said you didn’t want to leave me alone,” Seoho says. It’s not an explanation, but the downward curl of his mouth is indication enough that he prefers not to reveal the answer to Geonhak’s question, if he knows it at all. The tone of his voice is even, and it’s probably because he’s holding his breath so that he can get his words out properly without Geonhak’s scent distracting him. “Do you still want to help me?” 

Geonhak nods, and Seoho laughs dryly. “Not that you have much of a choice,” he remarks. 

“I guess I knew what I was getting into from the start,” Geonhak admits, which earns him a pointed look from Seoho. 

“Hmm.” Seoho’s hum is more thoughtful than it is condescending. “I don’t think you do.”

Despite Geonhak’s uncertainty and surprise at every new thing he’s learned about the alpha crawling on top of him, there were several decisions along the way where he knew proper protocol and overturned it anyways, because some part of him had wanted… “I wanted to be the one who took care of you when you were most vulnerable,” Geonhak says. 

He’s always been drawn to Seoho, even if he doesn’t know the exact reason behind it. Geonhak is not interested in difficult conquests, and he doesn’t whittle Seoho down into just a challenge he’ll forget about as soon as he overcomes it. After all, Geonhak yearns for _connection_ more than anything else, and what little Seoho had given him before he decided Geonhak wasn’t worth knowing further had been good enough that it’s always left Geonhak hopeful for the eventual possibility of more. 

“Most vulnerable, huh?” Seoho echoes, but he doesn’t deny it. “That’s sly of you, for an alpha everyone describes as sweet and gentle.” 

Geonhak sure doesn’t feel sweet or gentle right now, not when it comes to Seoho, but he supposes it’s easy to come across as someone who’s dignified and pleasant when there’s a lack of interest on his end and people don’t have the capability of picking up on it. “I’ve always been curious about you,” he says, giving up on verbalizing an emotion he wouldn’t do any justice to. “Is that so wrong?” 

“Well, here’s your chance to get me out of your system,” Seoho says. He reaches out to tentatively hold Geonhak’s chin, making sure not to scratch Geonhak with his claws. It’s a gesture both tender and demanding, and Geonhak is only beginning to realize just how defenseless he is against Seoho. “Are you going to take it?” 

“Yeah,” Geonhak says, and as Seoho pulls him in for a bloody, sharpened kiss with too much fang and just enough want to make Geonhak disregard the taste of iron on his tongue, Geonhak thinks about how once he’s gotten Seoho in his system, it’s highly unlikely that he’ll ever be able to get Seoho _out._

◐ ◐ ◐

Stripped naked and settled into the plush duvets of Geonhak’s bed, Seoho looks like both a nightmare and a dream, with his palms and claws covered in dried, rust colored blood and his pretty, swollen mouth that looks almost fuschia against the pale olive undertone of his skin. 

His body lights up and melts all at once underneath Geonhak’s scrupulous, probing hands, and it’s easy to figure out what Seoho likes in the absence of his usual reservations about Geonhak. The effects of the rut on his body and mind make him a little more honest, a little more open, and in an act of selfishness, Geonhak tries his best to memorize the way Seoho’s voice grows particularly high pitched, wonderfully desperate whenever Geonhak does something that pleases him. 

It makes Geonhak wonder what sex with Seoho would be like outside of a pheromone dense haze, with candid intentions, the right kind of tension and no undercurrent of ingrained ferocity, but he figures wishful thinking is pointless when he should focus on what he’s been given in the moment instead of what he’s not exactly guaranteed to have later. So he does just that, grounds himself in the present, and hopes his mouth and palms and fingertips leave deep enough of an impression on Seoho’s body that even after the delirious heat of Seoho’s rut ends, Seoho still remembers what it’s like to be shown raw devotion by a man who wants to give him power just as much as he wants to take it away from him. 

Geonhak’s claws retract as soon as his body can tell it’s no longer in peril, after both Seoho and he have come from just grinding against each other. It’s like Geonhak’s a teenager all over again, except that back then, his libido had always remained average for alpha boys his age if not below average, and Seoho is far more alluring and provocative than any of the lewd magazine spreads Geonhak’s friends had shown him in high school underneath the desks when there was no one to catch them. 

_Messy,_ Geonhak remembers thinking whenever he’d watched video clips titled with crude terms and filled with angles that sometimes took him out of the moment, but staring down at Seoho right now, Geonhak just wants to make even more of a mess out of him, and he presses close enough for their bodies to line up perfectly, skin to skin, which inevitably increases the slick mess between their stomachs and successfully makes them smell even more like each other. Seoho makes a noise that’s grossed out and entertained all at once, but he smiles absentmindedly against Geonhak’s mouth when Geonhak kisses him. Geonhak indulges in swiping his tongue over the points of Seoho’s fangs, sampling danger where he’s most vulnerable, and then he withdraws before Seoho can think to trap him and sink those fangs into warm flesh. 

Seoho’s eyes are half lidded when Geonhak asks where he wants to go from here, although Geonhak kind of? already knows the answer considering Seoho’s claws are still fully extended. A Seoho on the way to being sexually sated is a compliant Seoho, but Geonhak still wants to hear it directly, what exactly Seoho wants from him. 

“Fuck me. Or kill me. Anything to put me out of my misery,” Seoho offers, with a quiet, amused laugh, but it’s enough of an answer for Geonhak despite all the mysteries that still surround the otherwise reserved alpha he’s somehow managed to coax into his sheets. 

Seoho’s initially aloof chuckle cuts off soon afterwards, replaced by a soft, anticipatory inhale when Geonhak scoots up close enough so that Seoho’s ass is nearly flush against him and Geonhak’s cock rests warm and heavy on Seoho’s inner thigh, leaving a trail of sticky dampness whenever Seoho shifts his legs to get more comfortable. With one hand flattened across Seoho’s stomach, Geonhak uses his other, free hand to slide a careful, lubed finger inside of Seoho, working his way slowly and patiently up to three fingers and making sure Seoho’s gasps are of the good kind before he finally gives Seoho what he wants (what both of them want, to be more accurate) and fucks him.

Seoho is equally hard as he is soft. He’s more bone and muscle than anything else, and his hipbones, unyielding in structure, force Geonhak’s hands to mold around them, yet his warm, stifling heat agreeably adjusts to the stretch of Geonhak inside of him, drawing Geonhak in so deeply that Geonhak doesn’t recognize himself anymore as he chases the climb of pleasure bound to eventually toss him overboard when he can no longer go up. 

It’s too easy for Geonhak to get greedy like this, especially because Seoho’s words and moans tumble so freely out of his mouth that it’s as if he’s barely aware he’s even making noise. _That feels..._ Seoho mumbles at one point, before cutting himself off by biting his lips, and at another, he drops his head back and exposes the long, lean column of his throat to Geonhak while a silent scream forces its way out of his open mouth. Geonhak kisses the cartilage of Seoho’s Adam’s apple, grateful and pleased that Seoho is offering himself up to Geonhak like this, and Seoho subsequently gives him a murky look that Geonhak tucks away in the back of his mind to revisit later, when he has the energy and time to consider what Seoho is hiding in the shadows of his unspoken thoughts. 

The only thing keeping Geonhak grounded in reality is Seoho’s claws dragging every now and then along the side of Geonhak’s thighs, clutching at Geonhak’s wrists to anchor himself when he’s desperate for both more and less, and it’s a light, barely there reminder of what had occurred earlier, what could happen if either of them lose control in the wrong way again. Unsurprisingly, Seoho possesses an affinity for inflicting a moderate amount of pain, eyes narrowing observantly every time he draws a bit of blood and Geonhak’s breath hitches just enough for both of them to know that the gasps he’s making are meaningful and not coincidental. 

The bloodlust does end up returning every so often for both of them, albeit in separate, diluted waves that don’t really overlap and thus, cause no unpredictable, explosive reactions for either of them in response to each other’s violent streaks. The frequency decreases significantly after the first few hours, too, crimson tunnel vision dulling down into merely a low hum in Geonhak’s pulse he can ignore with relative ease as long as he focuses on other things. 

(Like the dull throb of pain in his scalp from Seoho fisting Geonhak’s hair when Geonhak sucks him off, or the exorbitant number of inconsequential marks Seoho sucks into Geonhak’s skin as if he’s compensating for the one damning mark he can’t make.) 

Geonhak only picks up on the possibility that Seoho might still be fighting the urge to mark him because Seoho’s hands end up littered with so many bite marks that Geonhak finds it hard to look at them by the end of the evening, when there’s more red petals blossoming on his skin than not, but Seoho hardly seems to notice the pain. He’s nonchalant even after Geonhak points it out, and simply tells Geonhak he doesn’t really feel it and for Geonhak not to look at the wounds anymore, before he kisses Geonhak on the mouth to provide a distraction that Geonhak readily accepts. 

On Geonhak’s end, there is no urge accompanied by the uncontrollable force of the initial one to claim Seoho that had left Geonhak wondering if he’d gone into rut right along with Seoho with how much he wanted to tear Seoho to pieces. Whenever the remnants of that primal, gut feeling to bite strike, there’s only a restlessness that makes Geonhak press his mouth against the nape of Seoho’s neck and hold it there without any contact from his teeth until the impulse to _claim_ passes. 

Geonhak likes Seoho every way he can get him, loves it even more when he’s allowed to maximize the square footage of skin connected between them and alter his position so their bodies fit perfectly against each other. Sculpted, molded, customized to coexist in an intimate blend of inky black and marbled gray, it’s hard to tell where Geonhak ends and where Seoho starts. 

That’s why it’s funny, Geonhak supposes, that he’s hesitant about hooking his chin over Seoho’s shoulder and kissing the alpha, who’s lying on his stomach with Geonhak on top of him, chest pressed to Seoho’s back. Geonhak expects some sort of an adverse reaction, maybe Seoho scowling or complaining for Geonhak to hurry up and finish, but he just shivers at the press of Geonhak’s lips against his ear, wavy curls of his hair mussed and spread across Geonhak’s pillow like a halo of dark petals around the crown of his head. 

_I want to keep you,_ Geonhak almost says, because he likes _everything_ about Seoho, not just the current pleasure Seoho can offer him. Seoho’s speaking voice makes him sound like he’s always on the verge of delivering a mocking joke, but his giggles, when they’re dragged out of him by Geonhak getting up in his face and demanding Seoho be less mean, sound like an answer to a question Geonhak hadn’t realized he’s been asking all along. 

Seoho keeps yielding to him, too, rolling over for Geonhak and giving him control, raising his chin to let Geonhak nuzzle at the delicate skin of his throat and scrape his teeth over the veins he can see and feel on Seoho’s neck. There is no war, no struggle, and Seoho is not so much submitting to Geonhak out of defeat as he is allowing Geonhak to take care of him however Geonhak wants to. Geonhak is the one setting the pace and Seoho is the one encouraging him, but there are moments when Geonhak feels like he’s the one submitting, especially when Seoho smirks at him after dragging his claws along the insides of Geonhak’s thighs and both of them pick up on the way Geonhak’s scent spikes with arousal instead of fear. 

Peeling back Seoho’s layers hasn’t dimmed Geonhak’s desire to monopolize him one bit, even if it’s a little unnerving to find the slightest hint of indifference behind Seoho’s warmth filled, heart shaped smile, but underneath all of that is a gentleness Seoho can’t hide from Geonhak no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he wants to pretend to be icy on the inside. 

_Have you ever let anyone in like this?_ Geonhak wants to ask, but he’s afraid that by saying something, Seoho will run from him. Geonhak wants to keep Seoho as long as possible if this connection between them is fleeting, a temporary intimacy created out of circumstance rather than solid intention. 

And then Seoho’s grinding back against him, impatient and irritable as he tells Geonhak to _move_ , and for the time being, Geonhak’s worries are no longer at the forefront of his mind, replaced by something else as Seoho seeks out and successfully receives the entirety of Geonhkak’s undivided attention. 

◐ ◐ ◐

Seoho’s body remains feverishly hot to the touch even when they’re going to sleep. He’s curled up against Geonhak, radiating heat high enough in temperature to almost hurt if their skin sticks together for too long. In a human body, that temperature would be worrying, but for an alpha in the midst of rut, it’s normal. 

At first, it surprises Geonhak when Seoho grabs and pulls him into the bed after Geonhak switches out the ice pack pressed against the side of Seoho’s neck and goes away for a bit to brush his teeth and wash his face. “Isn’t hugging me like that going to make you burn even hotter?” Geonhak asks. 

“You feel nice,” Seoho says, almost reluctantly, like he doesn’t want to explain the reasoning behind his clinginess. “Calming. A little cooling.” 

“Calming?” Geonhak echoes, expecting clarification. Seoho doesn’t give it to him, though, simply tells Geonhak to go to sleep after pressing even closer. 

As Seoho moves around a bit to get comfortable, with the crown of his hair tucked underneath Geonhak’s chin and his lips pressed lightly against Geonhak’s chest, Geonhak notes that today has been a reversal of sorts. 

In an unexpected state of vulnerability, Seoho had been discovered by a curious, concerned Geonhak when it’s usually Seoho who finds Geonhak in his darker, dimmer moments. 

Their paths sometimes cross over despite the fact that they know next to nothing about each other’s daily routines and schedules and also the fact that Seoho makes it difficult for people to find him no matter how recently they’d last seen him. There are no buildings where classes for dance majors and literature majors coincide, but Geonhak has never questioned the mysterious way Seoho shows up whenever Geonhak is feeling upset because doing so means potentially holding onto hope, a dangerous thing when it’s related to Seoho. 

Sometimes there are injuries Geonhak’s frustrated aren’t healing faster, and sometimes it’s just an off day, doubts pulling at the back of Geonhak’s mind and soreness in his muscles from unsatisfactory classes and critiques weighing him down both emotionally and physically. He keeps the complaints to a minimum typically, because he doesn’t like making the people close to him worry too much and there are only so many words he can use to describe the loneliness of pursuing dance as a career before he inevitably starts to sound like a broken record. 

It’s easier to find isolated spots on their university’s rooftops or in the hills on the outer perimeters of campus, and observe the rest of the world in the scope of his vision from an elevated perspective, reminding himself that there’s always something bigger, more universal at work and that the small failures aren’t leading up to a life filled with them. Other times he can’t always get away, so he’ll compromise with a moment stolen just for himself at a busy coffee shop or a brief drop in at a nearby bookstore that sells stationery and little plushies Geonhak likes to stare at even if he never buys them and takes them home. 

Seoho’s arrival is always unexpected. For someone who seems intent on keeping Geonhak at an arm’s length, Seoho has an eerie knack for finding Geonhak whenever he least expects to be found. He never overstays his welcome, only hovers long enough to buy Geonhak an iced coffee with enough sugar in it to tide Geonhak’s “childish” taste buds over, as he likes to say, or tease Geonhak with whatever stuffed animal in a store he can find that most closely resembles Geonhak. 

Geonhak doesn't mind if Seoho stays longer, because Seoho doesn’t ask hard questions or try to fix whatever issue at hand is going through Geonhak’s mind. Seoho isn’t insensitive, either, because Geonhak will occasionally catch Seoho looking at him like he wants to ruffle Geonhak’s hair, a little wistfulness pulling at the edges of his smile instead of the usual mischief. It makes Geonhak wonder... 

Wondering won’t do him any good, though. Maybe Seoho seems perfect, not because of who or what he is, but how little Geonhak sees of him in comparison to the people he’s been able to get close to. The grass is always greener on the other side until you’ve scaled the fence and realized the view is always the same in the end. 

Geonhak knows better than to get attached to kindness when he doesn’t know the motivation behind it, and so he closes his eyes, choosing not to think about what happens when Seoho’s fever breaks and he’ll have to unlearn all the ways in which he’s discovered the wolf sleeping soundly next to him. 

◓ ◓ ◓

Geonhak expects Seoho to bolt as soon as the fever of his rut breaks. 

So when he wakes up on the third morning to brown eyes locked on him paired with a subdued expression that looks significantly more like the Seoho Geonhak recognizes from before they’d gotten close enough to share a bed, among other things, he’s surprised that Seoho isn’t in a hurry to leave. 

“Morning,” Geonhak says. There’s a stray eyelash on Seoho’s cheek, and Geonhak brushes it off with his thumb. Their scents are mixed too much for Geonhak to pick out which notes belong to Seoho, specifically, but his body isn’t being plunged into pheromone overdrive as soon as his eyes open, and that’s a promising sign at least. “You remembered what happened, right?” 

“I wish I didn’t,” Seoho says, with a careful sigh that seems more directed at himself than Geonhak, and Geonhak snorts. 

“That’s pretty rude to say to someone who spent the last two days getting you through your rut and feeding you every time you mistakenly thought I was literally breakfast instead of just a chew toy,” Geonhak says, but he feels a little self-conscious when Seoho drops his gaze down to the mixture of fading teeth marks and fresh bites he’d left all over Geonhak’s torso. A higher pain tolerance and accelerated healing time for injuries on his end should have made them a breeze to deal with, but Seoho hadn’t let up on the biting, conveniently returning to break skin again in patches of phantom wounds just closed up, and alpha bites aren’t as feeble as beta or omega bites because they’re designed to scar. 

“Sorry,” Seoho says genuinely, sitting up. He tilts his head and reaches out to brush his fingertips across the marred stretch of skin between Geonhak’s neck and shoulder, his touch feather light as he takes in the wreckage he’s created. “Should I lick them better?” 

Geonhak blinks at him, stunned, and Seoho laughs. 

“I’m sorry to have gotten you involved in this mess,” Seoho says. “It’s probably not ideal to be dragged into another alpha’s rut of all things, huh? Or conventional.” 

He’s being surprisingly straightforward. Geonhak isn’t used to it, even if he’d gotten glimpses here and there of Seoho’s real personality in the last two days, having assumed that Seoho’s frankness would disappear as soon as the rut fully cleared. “I told you I knew what I was getting into,” Geonhak replies. “Though the biting…” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says. He stares down at his hands, which look a great deal worse for wear than any part of Geonhak’s body. Geonhak should probably consider himself lucky Seoho possesses tenfold the restraint of the typical alpha. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know why it happens?” Geonhak asks. 

“Not exactly,” Seoho says. 

“Have you…” Geonhak doesn’t want to ask because he knows he’ll get jealous if the answer is anything other than _no,_ but he feels like he should so he can get a better grasp on the situation. “Has it happened in other ruts?” _With other people_ , he doesn’t say, but it’s implied. 

“All of my ruts have been alone, before this one,” Seoho says, scratching at the back of his neck. His ears flush red, and Geonhak bites back the urge to kiss him. “So I… no. It hasn’t happened with anyone else.”

“I’ve heard of alphas spending ruts together,” Geonhak says. “But never cases about alphas wanting to mark each other or instinctively attempting spontaneous claims.” 

“Ah,” Seoho says. That weird tone to his voice is back, and Geonhak wants to break through it before Seoho withdraws at whatever has made him so abruptly uncomfortable. What’s more odd, though, is the fact that Seoho doesn’t sound particularly inclined to figure out the root of what happened. “I’m not sure.” 

“You seem unbothered by it,” Geonhak says. “Have _you_ heard of alphas bonding that way? I know some choose to do it by choice but…” 

Seoho replies with, “I didn’t know if it was a side effect of my suppressants, or something.” 

“Right,” Geonhak says, and that reminds him. There are a lot of puzzle pieces, none of which fit together, and he wants to be tactful in the way he pries for information because Seoho’s body language is starting to look closed off. “Those were weird, too. You seemed to grow immune to them, but that’s not supposed to happen, right?” 

Seoho shakes his head slowly, agreeing, but he says nothing further. 

“My cousin is a specialist regarding werewolf pairs,” Geonhak says, and Seoho’s eyes flicker up at him in alarm like he hadn’t expected to hear that piece of information. “I’m not sure, but I think he’d know more than either of us. Do you want to go meet him together?” 

It doesn’t ever occur to Geonhak that Seoho might feel more at ease leaving some questions unanswered, because Geonhak has always hated not knowing the truth even if discovering it is going to hurt him. 

“I don’t…” Seoho trails off. “I’ve got it covered, I think, so…”

Geonhak recalls the way Seoho’s eyes had widened at the mention of hospitals, and runs his tongue over his back teeth as his nose picks up on a strong sour note lingering in the air. Seoho is anxious. 

“Yonghoon runs a small, independent clinic. The staff are agreeable, all people he’d personally studied with in school or met while he was completing his residency program,” Geonhak offers, and Seoho gives him a withering look. It’s a more adult version of the expression Geonhak sees on the faces of kid werewolves who hate being brought in for physical check ups, wary of strangers with unfamiliar scents and new places much too overwhelming to their young senses. It all boils down to the same thing, though, a core fear that’s not easily displaced or alleviated. 

“I’m sure,” Seoho says, faintly. 

“It’s not as scary as it sounds,” Geonhak says. “You’ll have me with you anyways, and I won’t let them do anything that you’re not comfortable with. We’ll just go to ask a few questions and see if he knows what’s up.” 

Seoho sighs, and Geonhak gives him a hopeful smile. Victory is inching closer. “Is it far?” 

“If we can get an early appointment, it’ll be a thirty minute drive. If not, it might take up to an hour during busier times of day.” 

“Not too bad, then,” Seoho says, before he adds, “I don’t know if I can sit in a car with you that long, Geonhak.” 

“We fucked for two days straight,” Geonhak says, because he knows it’ll get a reaction out of Seoho, who predictably averts his gaze at the argument he can’t dismantle. He tries to slip his hand out of Geonhak’s, but Geonhak merely holds onto him tighter. “Save for eating and sleeping and showering, I guess.” 

“Geonhak—” 

“I was patient enough to help you through your rut and risk getting mauled by you when you were wolfed out,” Geonhak says, leveling Seoho with a stare that’s meant to weigh him down. Seoho finally stops struggling, and the sourness begins to dissipate, though Geonhak will have to check a few more times whether it’s coincidental or Seoho truly does calm down when Geonhak is touching him. “Spare me some more of your time for a short trip to Yonghoon’s clinic.” 

“Fine,” Seoho says after a brief moment of deliberation, and Geonhak smiles at him, satisfied. 

When Geonhak lets go of him and stands up to get dressed, however, Seoho grabs his arm again and quietly adds, “Thank you. For...” 

“For what?” Geonhak asks, knowing full well what the answer is, and he can’t help laughing when Seoho’s face scrunches in distaste, like he’s not sure he wants to thank Geonhak anymore. 

He turns to approach the bed again, resting one knee on the edge as he leans in closer to Seoho. “What are you doing?” Seoho asks, backing up into the wall as Geonhak easily fills his personal bubble. 

“Kissing you,” Geonhak says, letting his voice run syrupy sweet and curling his fingers around the back of Seoho’s neck before he leaves a sloppy but chaste peck in the middle of Seoho’s forehead. Seoho visibly relaxes when he realizes that’s really all Geonhak wanted: a kiss. “I should be the one thanking you for the two-day meal, even if it was a _little_ tiring~” 

He does get off the bed this time, walking across his bedroom and sliding his closet door open to look for a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. He hasn’t gone through with the effort of getting fully dressed for the last two days, to make things simpler and more efficient whenever Seoho had wanted Geonhak to give him relief. 

“Disgusting,” Seoho says, but he pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin over his crossed arms as he watches Geonhak slip a black training shirt over his head. 

“I’m going to call Yonghoon and ask him when he’s available,” Geonhak says. He gives Seoho’s pale, toned legs a cursory glance, and grabs a pair of light gray cotton shorts for Seoho from the top shelf of his cube organizer. “You can talk to him, too, if you want.” 

Seoho drops his head to the side, observing Geonhak at a diagonal angle now. “No thanks.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Geonhak says, and he balls up the shorts in his hands before throwing the bundle at Seoho. “He’s nice~” 

“Plenty of people say I’m nice,” Seoho retorts, catching the shorts easily and then proceeding to shimmy his way into them with the least amount of movement required. “Knowing what you know now, do you trust that they’re telling the truth?” 

“You’re plenty nice,” Geonhak says, “when you’re not trying to rip a chunk out from my neck or avoid substantial conversations with me.” He really doesn’t mean to say the last part because he knows it’ll dampen the atmosphere, but it slips out before he has a chance to catch himself. 

“I don’t avoid you,” Seoho says, and Geonhak snorts. 

“Right,” Geonhak says. “Because that skittish thing you do whenever I get too close to you even though I’m not trying to do anything doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s not you,” Seoho says. “It’s the way you smell—” then he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply through his mouth, and Geonhak gives him a confused look. 

“The way I smell?” Geonhak repeats. “Are you saying I stink?” 

“Not at all,” Seoho says. The sigh he releases is filled with fatigue. “...Forget I said anything.” 

“Our scents are blended up now, like an alpha smoothie,” Geonhak says, and Seoho snorts. “It’s too late for you to decide I stink.” 

Seoho studies Geonhak for a moment, and Geonhak takes the opportunity to study him, too, admiring how nice Seoho looks in Geonhak’s shorts, legs partially covered by Geonhak’s blankets. He could get used to this even if every fiber of his being is reminding him not to. 

“You smell just like your personality,” Seoho says, finally. His voice is quiet, mellow, but his pronunciation is clear and he means for Geonhak to hear him. “Caramelly.” 

“So you’re saying I’m sweet,” Geonhak guesses, skeptical. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Seoho says, and then he’s pulling the blankets off of his legs, sliding forward and wrinkling the cover sheet on Geonhak’s mattress as he clambers out of the bed. “I’m going to go drink some water.” 

When Geonhak calls his cousin, he only has to wait two rings before Yonghoon picks up. “Geonhak~” Yonghoon says, fond as ever. 

Geonhak still remembers when they’d first met as children. Five years apart in age, Yonghoon hadn’t been very fond of the small alpha cousin who had been suddenly dropped into his lap, whom his parents expected him to take care of at every family dinner party and social gathering. Yonghoon had brought Geonhak with him into the woods one day out of boredom, annoyed when Geonhak couldn’t keep up. He’d pushed forward anyways, not realizing until it was too late that he’d lost track of Geonhak. 

Geonhak doesn’t remember much of it, but they’d apparently needed an entire search party that lasted nearly two hours to find him, which was long and stressful in werewolf standards. The sun had still been high in the sky when they’d finally located him at the bottom of a small hill, confused and a little distressed but mostly unscathed. Yonghoon had cried so hard that he was getting snot and tears everywhere, and that moment, Geonhak thinks, is one of the pivoting points for how their relationship had turned out even after they’d grown into adults. Yonghoon is both protective and overly nosy, even if the only thing he’s got on Geonhak now is height, considering they’re nearly the same weight and Geonhak could probably blow the slim-built alpha over with a punch to the shoulder even if Yonghoon is stronger than most alphas and all betas. 

Geonhak rolls his lower lip in between his teeth. “Do you mind if I come in sometime this week? Preferably in the morning, unless you have a lot of appointments.”

“This week isn’t too bad, so you can come first thing on Wednesday or Thursday as soon as we’re open,” Yonghoon says, before he hums thoughtfully. “Is something wrong? You were in perfect health two months ago, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, it’s something else,” Geonhak says. “I ended up getting someone through their rut, I guess.”

“A _rut_?” Yonghoon repeats meaningfully, like he thinks Geonhak might have messed the word up and meant _heat_ instead. When there’s a pause and he realizes Geonhak hasn’t misspoken, Yonghoon’s tone of voice sharpens. “Against your will?” 

“No, no,” Geonhak says, as he looks over at Seoho, who’s just returned to the bedroom to listen to Geonhak’s phone conversation with Yonghoon and happens to catch the tail end of Yonghoon’s agitation-laced question over speakerphone. Seoho takes a sip of water from the cup he’s holding in his hands, but his casual posture contradicts the anxiety in his eyes, occasionally darting, which makes it clear he’s paying more attention than he’s letting on. “I was willing.” 

“Hmm.” Yonghoon doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he’s giving Geonhak the benefit of the doubt for now. “So what’s the issue? Were there any complications?” 

“There were a few weird things we encountered that I thought you might be able to...explain, potentially?” Geonhak says. “So I thought it would be a good idea to bring him with me so we can discuss it in person.” 

“Weird…” Yonghoon says, but he’s momentarily interrupted by what sounds like a nurse or the receptionist talking to him, and he pulls his mouth away from the phone, so Geonhak can’t really hear what his cousin says in reply. After a few exchanges back and forth, there’s the faint _click_ of a door being shut, and now alone again, Yonghoon continues with, “Did you mark each other, by chance?” 

Geonhak’s eyes widen, as do Seoho’s. “How did you know to ask that?” 

“Nobody questions the urge to claim an omega in heat,” Yonghoon explains matter-of-factly. “And alphas may choose to spend ruts together, but I’ve never seen you show much interest in anyone regardless of their status, so something out of the ordinary must have happened for you to even bother having concerns to discuss with me, your overprotective _hyung~_ ” 

“So you’re self-aware,” Geonhak says. 

“Your little brother always reminds me, the punk,” Yonghoon says, and Geonhak laughs. 

_Something out of the ordinary_. That’s a good way to put it, Geonhak thinks, as he considers the way Seoho is avoiding his eyes upon hearing Yonghoon’s inadvertent admission of information regarding Geonhak’s bare bones history with other partners.

Geonhak has always been good at faking interest when it’s required of him, but he’s reserved around people he’s not familiar with even if he wants to know more about them, fortunate to have a solid enough support system that he doesn’t really care about expanding it. His curiosity towards Seoho, though, is the type of emotional itch that he knows won’t leave him alone until he finds the answers he needs, or at least until he locates the point to chip at that will have the rest of Seoho’s enigmatic exterior crumbling to the ground. 

“So who is it?” Yonghoon asks. “Is he special?” 

“...He’s someone I pay a lot of attention to,” Geonhak says, and he can feel Seoho stiffen from where he’s leaning against the door frame. “Have you had patients who...” 

“Not personally, no,” Yonghoon says. “I’ve talked to a few people in true pairs, though, back when I was a resident, and I’ve read up on case studies of how it happens and what makes up the aftermath. They call it different things around the world, but ‘true pair’ is starting to become one of the standard terms for alphas who claim each other.” 

Since Seoho doesn’t feel inclined to move any closer, Geonhak takes it upon himself to close the distance between them, swiftly clearing the bedroom length in a few steps to stop next to Seoho at the doorway. He bumps Seoho with his shoulder, and Seoho gives him a mild look that doesn’t seem to mean anything in particular before he’s sipping from his cup again. “What happens if there is no bite?”

Yonghoon sounds perplexed when he asks, “So you...didn’t end up biting each other?” 

“Well, we avoided it but...” Geonhak says, then glances at Seoho’s hands. He should tend to those wounds for Seoho, later, although Seoho won’t need it if the wounds are going to close up soon. “Not without some collateral damage.” 

“Come in Wednesday morning, if it works for both of your schedules,” Yonghoon says. Geonhak glances at Seoho to see what Seoho thinks of that, and Seoho nods, agreeing. “I can’t make any guesses as to what’s going on right away, but it might be good to stay near each other.” 

“Why?” 

“There’s a possibility you’ll start to experience bond withdrawal, but I’m not sure because I don’t know the full situation and there’s no real claiming bite,” Yonghoon says. He pauses. “We might have to do some blood tests for both of you. If he’s on any suppressants, I recommend he goes off of them until you two come in because they could have adverse results.” 

“Okay,” Geonhak says, distinctly aware of Seoho’s sudden shaky exhale and his weight shift from one hip to the other. It’s the mention of blood tests, he realizes. Either that, or the suppressants. Geonhak leans into Seoho to soothe him, staring pointedly at Seoho until Seoho finally makes eye contact back. “How close do we have to stay to each other?” 

“Whatever feels comfortable,” Yonghoon says. “I doubt anything severe will happen if you don’t see him until the appointment, since that’s only two days from now, but you might feel tired or irritable more often than usual.” 

“Got it,” Geonhak says. 

When the phone call is done, he asks Seoho whether they’re still good to visit Yonghoon. “Yes,” Seoho says, but Geonhak doesn’t believe him. 

“I can smell the anxiety on you,” Geonhak says. “You sure?” 

“This is how I always am,” Seoho says, and that paints a very different picture of him than what Geonhak has built based on all their previous interactions. He has to remain vigilant, or else he’s going to miss something crucial in the lines between whatever Seoho is choosing not to say. “It’s just that I’m not taking anything to dull it down right now.” 

“You heard him, right?” Geonhak reaches out for Seoho’s hand, and Seoho allows him to take it after he’s made sure he can hold his cup with his free one. Geonhak does his best to avoid pressing on any of the open wounds, settling on a touch that has their palms pressed together without their fingers intertwining. “No medication until Wednesday.” 

“I heard,” Seoho replies, before he wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Do you always smell like that?” 

Geonhak tilts his head. “Like what?” 

“Like…” Seoho licks his lips, thinking. “Warm? Cheerful. No matter what, your scent always gives off a happy feeling.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says. “I guess it’s to balance out the ashy bitterness of yours. What do you eat on the regular? Rocks?” 

“Shut up,” Seoho says, and that makes Geonhak laugh. “Anyways, it’s obnoxious. I can’t pay attention to anything else when you’re close by, and it’s like you’re shoving all your happiness onto me so that I have to feel it too.” 

“Is that such a horrible thing?” Geonhak asks. For someone who smiles so much at everyone, whose laugh sounds like the lively, melodious trill of a bell, Seoho is so _jaded_. “It’s double the happiness, since there’s two of us, right?” 

“It means double the bad, too,” Seoho replies. “I’m not used to sharing my feelings, even if it’s only a vague change in my scent, because it’s out of my control.” 

“I think you just have to change your perspective,” Geonhak says, and Seoho purses his lips at the suggestion. “Consider it this way: happiness is doubled, but burdens are split in half.” 

“That makes zero sense,” Seoho says. “You’re full of shit.” He laughs when Geonhak makes a face at him. 

“Though it could also be because you’re around that I smell like that,” Geonhak says. “The happiness, I mean.” 

Seoho surveys him with a sharp, probing gaze. “That’s not you.” 

“What?” 

“Potential pseudo-bond withdrawal,” Seoho states dryly. “You feel attachment to someone after spending a rut together with them when it’s only a temporary feeling. It makes even more sense if we did form some sort of a psychological claim on each other without physically going through it. It means—” 

“So?” Geonhak asks. 

“It’s not real,” Seoho says. “Just a reaction you can’t control. Doesn’t it feel trite to experience emotions you can’t rely on as being your own?” 

“Are emotions ever reliable in the first place?” Geonhak asks. “They’re inherently subjective, but they’re still truthful in that they belong to _you_.” 

“It’s more like I belong to them, with how much they drag me around,” Seoho counters, sighing. “Geonhak, you’re every bit as much of an overgrown puppy as you look.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you’re too hopeful for a world as ugly as this one,” Seoho says. There’s a heaviness to his words that Geonhak can’t shake off even if Seoho’s looking at him...almost fondly, and it makes Geonhak want to wrap Seoho up in a thick, cozy blanket so that nothing can ever hurt him again. “Don’t be kind to those who don’t deserve it, okay?” 

“Okay,” Geonhak says with a nod, before he decides to change the subject. “Will you buy me breakfast?” 

“Why?” Seoho asks, narrowing his eyes. “Are you not sick of me yet?” 

“My cousin said we should stay near each other, remember?” Geonhak reminds him. “And I think I’m someone who deserves kindness~” 

“Sometimes people don’t always get what they deserve, and that’s called character building,” Seoho retorts, slipping out of Geonhak’s hold and heading towards the kitchen. Geonhak follows him, under the impression that Seoho will collect his belongings and leave once he’s finished washing the cup he’s borrowed from Geonhak’s cupboard. Instead, Seoho turns to look at Geonhak expectantly after he’s put the cup away to dry and wiped his hands on Geonhak’s kitchen towel. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” 

“Have you picked a place, yet?” Seoho asks. 

“For breakfast? Are you going to eat with me?” Geonhak asks in response, immediately perking up, and Seoho looks a little stunned by the open display of excitement before he makes a dismissive snort. 

“Wouldn’t want you to go into bond withdrawal from missing me too much,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, even though it’s obvious he has very little interest in the whole claiming mystery between them, if he has any to begin with, and Geonhak shoves him on the shoulder before following it up with a question about where Seoho wants to eat. 

◑ ◑ ◑

Dongju and Dongmyeong are home when Geonhak drops by to pick up the handouts Dongju’s kept for him from their shared humanities courses and a few boxes of pickled side dishes the twins’ mom purposely made too much of so that they could share with their friends.

Dongju is a dance major, same as Geonhak, and Dongmyeong studies music theory and composition in a different department. Both twins are alphas and have similar, slim builds, but Dongmyeong is tanner and more muscular compared to Dongju, whose delicate looks often mislead people into thinking he’s an omega or beta until he opens his mouth to speak. Between them, Dongmyeong is the affectionate one looking for warmth filled hugs and cheeks to squish, while Dongju is more interested in gnawing on his friends as soon as they get close enough and practicing makeup on anyone who falls victim to the flutter of his long eyelashes and allure of his honey brown irises.

The moment Geonhak steps inside, Dongju sends him a flat, knowing look. 

“You reek,” Dongju says. With anyone else, Geonhak might feel embarrassed, but Dongju talks about heats and sex the same way he complains about Dongmyeong buying the wrong laundry detergent or his favorite body lotion being reformulated and smelling completely different. “I guess you really meant it when you texted me back only to say that you were busy.” 

“Sorry,” Geonhak says, amused. “I was preoccupied.” 

“Hi Geonhak,” Dongmyeong says, emphasizing both words while eyeing his twin brother out of the corner of his eye, and Geonhak returns the greeting. “I’m sorry that _one_ of us doesn’t know how to greet his friends properly.” 

Dongju makes a purposeful sniff in Geonhak’s direction and ignores the obvious jab at his lack of manners from Dongmyeong. He only ever scrapes up politeness to get strangers to do something for him when he can’t do it himself, although a smile angled right is usually enough to do the trick, no manners or words required. “What kind of power-omega rubbed themselves all over you to make you smell like that?” he asks. “I’ve never come across one who smells that intense.” 

Even if Dongju hasn’t guessed correctly, he isn’t wrong, either. Geonhak has met his fair share of territorial alphas, most of them all bark and no bite to back it up, but he’s never come across anyone with a scent as acutely vivid as Seoho’s, although it’s not unpleasantly overwhelming, just hard to ignore. He’d thought that maybe it was only him who felt that way, but judging by Dongju’s reaction to the lingering but fading hints of Seoho on Geonhak, it might be a universal thing. 

“Wasn’t an omega,” Geonhak answers, intentionally remaining vague. 

In response to that, both Dongju and Dongmyeong raise their eyebrows, although Dongmyeong just looks intrigued while Dongju looks substantially miffed that Geonhak isn’t spilling more information out of his own volition. “So who was it?” Dongju demands. 

“I’m just here to pick up my handouts and Mrs. Son’s lovely kimchi,” Geonhak says as he crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. 

“You think you can ignore me for three days straight and just swing on by to get the world’s best side dishes for free without telling me what rare species of alpha got you whipped enough to take them home and then keep _quiet about it_?” Dongju says viciously, not bothering to breathe in between any of those words, and Dongmyeong laughs. 

“You’re never this interested in who Dongmyeong’s sleeping with,” Geonhak says. 

“One, Dongmyeong never sleeps with alphas, and two, Dongmyeong sleeps with anything that moves as long as it is not an alpha,” Dongju says. “That would be like showing interest in every single piece of junk mail that shows up at my door.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dongmyeong says. “Just because I haven’t vowed to love someone who doesn’t love me back for the rest of my youth—” 

“Don’t be mean to each other,” Geonhak says, interfering before Dongju inevitably retaliates and tackles Dongmyeong to the floor. Dongju gets feisty when it comes to his personal life, because he’s hung up on a long legged beta who’s completely oblivious to his affections, openly hates alphas, and gets scared at even the fluttering of a pigeon’s wing hundreds of feet away from him. Dongju is far more terrifying than a mere pigeon, so he has his work cut out for him if he wants to win Keonhee over. 

“I’ll spare Dongmyeong an arm if you,” Dongju makes grabby hands, “tell me about them. Please. I’m so bored here, I only have choreography to make and Dongmyeong screaming every time he doesn’t clear a level on his stupid video games, which is _always_ —” 

“This is slander. I’m going to my room,” Dongmyeong says with faux-sadness, and Dongju tells him _good riddance,_ which only earns him a middle finger from Dongmyeong as Dongmyeong walks over to the refrigerator and looks for something to eat, clearly not planning on actually leaving. 

All things considered, Geonhak is probably better off telling Dongju the truth before Dongju thinks to dig it up himself whether it’s through personal interrogations or the efforts of his fanclub members at the university. 

“Are you curious, too?” Geonhak asks Dongmyeong when Dongmyeong finishes microwaving what smells like pad thai leftovers from the restaurant around the corner and joins them at the dining table. 

“A little,” Dongmyeong says, and Geonhak can hear the _I told you so_ written so evidently all over Dongju’s smug facial expression. “You’re not really the dating type, so…” 

“It’s Seoho,” Geonhak says, and Dongju drops his phone. 

Dongju quickly retrieves it before it can tumble out of his lap and onto the floor, and Dongmyeong does a little shake of his head that makes him look like a dog trying to get rid of water behind its ears. 

“What?” they ask simultaneously, and Geonhak laughs, embarrassed. “Lee Seoho?” 

Geonhak gives a noncommittal nod. 

“I thought he was a beta,” Dongmyeong says. “Not to mention, he’s super intimidating. How did you even...well,” the alpha pauses, scanning Geonhak as if making sure despite them having known each other for years, “it would make sense for everyone and anyone to be in love with you, since you’re _you_ , but how’d it happen?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Geonhak asks. 

“You’re literally a gentle, giant puppy,” Dongmyeong says, with an ambiguous gesture. “Could beat up a chunky werewolf twice your size with your pinky, probably, but you’re shy in front of the people who’d offer you their hand in marriage in a heartbeat and choose to coo at small children in your free time without logging it as volunteer work.” He raises his eyebrows comically, and Geonhak laughs again, wanting to cover his face so that he can hide his reddening cheeks. “Seoho, though? That guy smiles at everyone, but you can’t ever tell what he’s thinking, except that he’s probably deciding whether to toss you off the side of a building for having only two brain cells when he has two hundred billion.” 

“He’s not like that,” Geonhak says, uncomfortable. A week ago, he might have agreed with them, but he’s been enlightened since then, although the nuances of Seoho’s disposition are too difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t seen them in action. “He’s just private.” 

“That’s the heart goggles talking,” Dongmyeong says. “Dongju, do you see them? They’re extra big and extra pink.” 

“Shut up,” Geonhak says. 

“You finally did something about that stupid crush,” Dongju says, and he talks over Geonhak’s subsequent attempt at denial. “It makes sense though. You guys are a little bit like opposites, but sort of the same in power levels.” Dongju’s mouth is formed into the pout that means he’s being genuinely contemplative and isn’t in the middle of scheming or coming up with a one liner insult. “Equal push and pull on both ends.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re confused,” Dongju says. “Sometimes he’d go out of his way to bug you, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Geonhak says, uncomfortable. “I thought he did it to everyone.” 

“He’s nice to everyone. Just nice, nothing else,” Dongju says. “He started off nice with you, too, but it felt like something happened for a bit, and then he went back to teasing you every time you two met at the same event or social gathering by coincidence. Like elementary schoolers pulling pigtails, except neither of you have pigtails.” 

Dongmyeong makes a loud slurping noise as he finishes the last of his pad thai, and Dongju smacks him on the arm. “So did he ask you out or did you ask him?” Dongmyeong asks, mouth still partially full. 

“Ah,” Geonhak says. “It’s still…I just helped him through his rut.” His face feels like flames are crawling across it. “It’s complicated.” 

“You guys rolled around in the sheets before you even went on any _dates_?” Dongju asks, nearly dropping his phone _again_. “What happened to the gentleman Geonhak I know?” 

“I guess when you put two alphas together though, you can’t really ask for either of them to be gentle,” Dongmyeong says, as Geonhak groans in frustration and Dongju makes a scandalized squeak. “Geonhak, that’s pretty wild for you.” 

“I’m not going to talk about this anymore,” Geonhak says, before adding, “Don’t say anything in public, whether it’s to him or me.” 

Dongmyeong crows, “Aw, Geonhak’s being protective of his pretty alpha.”

 _Pretty alpha_ really shouldn’t make Geonhak blush as much as it does, and yet. 

“What if it’s both of you together?” Dongju asks, making wiggly, suggestive fingers. “Am I allowed to say something then?”

“Please give me my handouts and your mom’s kimchi,” Geonhak pleads as he puts his face in his hands, and the twins cackle like hyenas in harmony before they oblige, heading off in different directions to get both of those things for him. 

◒ ◒ ◒

The first thing Geonhak notices when Seoho opens his front door on Wednesday morning is the sleepy puffiness underneath Seoho’s eyes, the gaze in them soft and not yet guarded because it’s too early in the day for him to put up a thick wall of defense against Geonhak. 

“Late night?” 

“I had an essay due,” Seoho replies, stifling a yawn. “I had to stay up a little later than anticipated to get it done.” 

“You can sleep in the car,” Geonhak says, and Seoho nods. 

Then Geonhak sees how Seoho is curled up and burrowed into the hood of his mustard colored sweatshirt, and he reaches out to feel the thickness of the material. Medium thick, but it’s cold out, and Seoho’s already shivering before he’s even left the comfort of his apartment. Geonhak gives a cursory scan behind Seoho, observing what he can of Seoho’s foyer and living room before he redirects his attention to Seoho again. “Are you wearing enough?” 

“Should be fine,” Seoho says. 

“That’s exactly what someone who doesn’t know how to take care of themselves would say,” Geonhak replies. “I have an extra jacket in the car you can borrow.” 

“Aw, you care so much,” Seoho says, gaze gradually sharpening as it sweeps across Geonhak’s face, then down to the outfit Geonhak is wearing, a thick sweater underneath a fleece-lined denim jacket and black jeans with high top sneakers. “You look nice.” 

“Thank you,” Geonhak says, suppressing the wave of desire he gets from having Seoho crawl all over him with just his eyes, and Seoho laughs when he catches the change in Geonhak’s scent. 

“Was two days not enough?” Seoho asks, and Geonhak wants to scowl at him. “Or maybe it’s that you have a praise kink. Of course you would.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Geonhak says. “Hurry up if you don’t want to be late.” 

Halfway through the drive, Geonhak can tell Seoho’s anxiety is heightening even though Seoho doesn’t show any outward changes in his body language. The nervousness in his scent trickles into Geonhak’s own scent by sheer exposure, and Geonhak still hasn’t figured out whether it’s because he’s paying so much attention to Seoho that it’s starting to happen more and more, or it’s the effects of a potential mating bond that had been dangerously close and yet never completed. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine,” Seoho replies thinly. Geonhak doesn’t agree, but he decides not to push it. 

“If you want to hold onto my hand or something,” Geonhak says. He’s spent most of the drive only using his left hand to steer, so it wouldn’t be much of a change. “You’re welcome to.” 

“Like a safety blanket?” Seoho asks. His voice goes flat, cold, and his scent mirrors it, going just as icy as his words. “I’m not a child.” 

They’re at a stop light, so Geonhak takes the opportunity to turn and glance at Seoho. He finds that Seoho looks lost, even though the words that just came out of his mouth were cutting. “Hey. You’re clearly anxious, and I’m trying to make you feel better. You don’t have to get upset with me.” 

“Sorry,” Seoho says. He reaches out, then, to slide his hand into Geonhak’s palm, and Geonhak is surprised to feel the coarse texture of bandages against his skin. The bandages are new ones, wrapped differently from how Geonhak had done them a few days ago, some parts not entirely smooth so Geonhak knows Seoho didn’t ask anyone for help. 

“They’re not healed yet?” Geonhak asks, after thinking about it for a while. He feels bad for not having noticed earlier, but then Seoho pulls his sleeves down, hiding most of his hands, and Geonhak can see how he’d missed the detail before. “Did you bite yourself that deeply?” 

Seoho makes an ambiguous noise. 

“Not gonna tell me?” Geonhak asks. “Should I be worried?” 

“Don’t worry,” Seoho says. He curls in on himself, burrowing deeper into the safety of the blue bomber jacket Geonhak had given him to wear before he’d started driving. “They should be healed by the end of today.” 

“Okay,” Geonhak says, sensing that Seoho wants to let go of his hand. Seoho’s scent has mellowed out into something calmer, less restless, so Geonhak squeezes lightly before letting Seoho slip his hand away. 

The clinic is located in a nondescript, gray building which shares a moderately sized plaza with a handful of other businesses. There’s an independent coffee shop run by an older couple, where the wife makes all the pastries as well as the conversation with their customers, too, while her quieter husband focuses on roasting the coffee beans and serving the drinks. On the right of them is a hobby arts and crafts store by the name of _Strawberry Moon_ , and on the left, a _Home Goods_ that Geonhak avoids stepping foot into unless he’s with Dongju, who always wants to look at fluffy Ottoman chairs and fake flowers to decorate his apartment with even if he has too many already. One of the workers there is an omega who Geonhak has seen spraying perfume on herself as soon as he enters the store, and Dongju’s presence is the only defense Geonhak has against her not-so-subtle advances. 

This early in the workday, parking is ample. Seoho is still asleep when it’s time to get out and since shaking him on the shoulder doesn’t work, Geonhak resorts to sliding his hand up Seoho’s neck and patting Seoho lightly on the cheek until Seoho stirs from the new warmth against his skin. He makes a noise that sounds akin to an irritated kitten stirring awake, and Geonhak laughs. 

“We’re here,” he tells Seoho, and Seoho nods, emitting a soft exhale when Geonhak retracts his hand that makes Geonhak want to touch him again. Instead, Geonhak feels his back pocket to make sure his wallet is still there and hasn’t fallen out onto the driver’s seat before he pulls his keys out of the ignition and prepares to step out. 

After Seoho gets out of the car, too, Geonhak makes his way around the front as he locks his car with his remote key and approaches Seoho, leaning in close enough that Seoho pulls his face back reflexively. “What are you—” 

“Stay still for a bit,” Geonhak says, and he nuzzles at the side of Seoho’s neck as well as his jaw, knocking into Seoho’s hoop earring by accident but not very hard. 

“Are you scent marking me?” Seoho asks. His expression makes him look like he can’t tell whether he’s affronted or unbothered, and Geonhak assumes it’s somewhere in the middle, but Seoho doesn’t make any move to push him away and lets Geonhak repeat the process on the other side of his face even though though they both know it’s overkill. 

Yonghoon is at the front desk when they come in. He pauses in the middle of talking with Jinsol, the receptionist, and smiles amiably at Geonhak and Seoho. 

Upon taking in Yonghoon’s scent, Seoho immediately stiffens, mild irritation seeping out of him in both the unhappy twist of his mouth and intensified smoke of his scent. He’s probably grumpy that Geonhak hadn’t given him an explicit heads up beforehand, though it’s not like alphas have to be warned before entering public spaces where they have to interact with other alphas. It’s probably that Seoho isn’t used to alphas being able to recognize that he’s one, too, now that there’s nothing to block his scent and he’s aware that in a way, he’s outnumbered against Geonhak and Yonghoon. 

Geonhak can foresee Seoho trying to withdraw, and he presses a firm palm against the lower part of Seoho’s back to keep Seoho by his side so that they’re standing in line with each other. “Yonghoon hyung.” 

“Hi Geonhak,” Yonghoon says. He gives a meaningful look at the bomber jacket Seoho is wearing, either recognizing it as belonging to Geonhak or recognizing the fact that Geonhak has gone out of his way to make sure Seoho smells like him. “Nice to meet you. Your name is...?” 

“Seoho,” Geonhak says, and Seoho makes a brief nod of politeness, before extending his hand to complete a handshake with Yonghoon. 

“Thanks for agreeing to come in so early, Seoho,” Yonghoon says, after he’s gotten Geonhak and Seoho settled in his office. “Do you want to run me through what happened?” 

“I don’t think there’s a whole lot beyond what I already told you,” Geonhak says, and it’s weird, that Seoho doesn’t meet his eyes when Geonhak tries to look to him for confirmation. “Seoho went into rut earlier than he expected while he was at school, and he took his suppressants, but they wore off less than twenty minutes after.” 

“Less than twenty minutes?” Yonghoon asks. “Are these regular suppressants you’re taking, or ones that are supposed to be taken to tide you over when your rut hits, in an emergency?” 

“The latter,” Seoho says, and Yonghoon makes a perplexed noise. 

“Are you taking anything else on a regular basis?” At Seoho’s nod, Yonghoon then says, “Most alphas choose not to take suppressants on a cycle since they’re not the ones with monthly heats. Is there a reason you do so?” 

“Everyone in my family is accustomed to taking suppressants as soon as they hit puberty,” Seoho replies. “An additional measure of control.” 

“Has your prescription changed any time in the last six months?” Yonghoon says. 

“No,” Seoho says, shaking his head. “It changed a year ago, but that was the most recent instance where my dosage changed.” 

“Have they given you issues before?” Yonghoon asks. 

“No.” 

“Okay,” Yonghoon says. From his pursed lips, Geonhak can tell something doesn’t add up in Yonghoon’s mind that he’s choosing not to voice yet. “Well, the blood tests will be adequate, but for a more extensive view on what might have gone wrong, it’d be good to get a urine sample and potentially a hair sample, too.” Seoho agrees, and Yonghoon taps his fingers against the edge of his desk. “About the marking, though...are you familiar with true pairs, Seoho?” 

“You mentioned it last time,” Geonhak says. Next to him, Seoho is quiet. Pensive. 

Yonghoon nods. “Two alphas who are drawn towards each other biologically will, most of the time, try to spontaneously claim each other as soon as they catch a whiff of each other’s scent, usually when one of them is in rut. It’s more dangerous because both can grow violent, compared to alphas trying to mark omegas under the influence of their pheromones and are more sexually motivated.” 

He glances at the bandages wrapped around Seoho’s hands, which are placed neatly in Seoho’s lap. “Did you guys try to maul each other first?” 

“I was trying not to shift in the beginning,” Geonhak says. “But when I realized Seoho might actually bite me or hurt me further, I think I shifted automatically.” 

“That’s normal, although every case of true pairs varies,” Yonghoon says. “What confuses me is that there are hardly any cases where a bite doesn’t happen, because the claiming bite is usually what stabilizes both alphas’ emotions and ends the bloodlust. It’s the hardest thing to avoid, since there’s no built in protective factor, only an instinctive struggle for power on both ends.” 

“The bloodlust plateaued and then faded after a while, though,” Geonhak says, thumbing at Seoho’s sleeve. It’s only then that Seoho’s facial features flicker to life as he tunes back into the conversation. “Right?” 

“It kept returning for me,” Seoho says. “But it was...it was weaker, each time, yes.” 

“How long did the rut take to break?” 

“Two days and a half days, give or take,” Geonhak says, and nodding, Yonghoon directs his next question at Seoho. 

“Is that earlier than usual for you, Seoho? Or normal?” 

“Ah,” Seoho says, looking up. There’s a faint dusting of red across his cheeks. “It’s usually three or four days.” 

“...Were you two intimate before the rut?” Yonghoon asks after a moment of silence, and that has Geonhak looking up, too, because it’s a question he doesn’t expect. 

“No,” Seoho says. “The only reason we became intimate was because Geonhak spent an prolonged amount of time trying to help me get home, and my pheromones started affecting him.” 

“Even if you are a true pair, which I think is highly likely,” Yonghoon says, “the fact that you were able to resist biting Geonhak is...that requires an incredible amount of restraint and willpower compared to what it takes to avoid biting an omega. Not only that, the rut should have taken longer to break because the bloodlust would have given you further problems and dragged it out.” 

“What does that mean?” Seoho asks. 

“There’s nothing to indicate that the intimacy was forced or uncontrollable, considering you avoided doing the one thing your body would have made you do regardless of what your real intentions were,” Yonghoon says, “and that’s the claiming bite.” 

Seoho frowns at the implications of that statement, bristling. 

“How was I supposed to avoid _intimacy_ when my body was on pheromone overdrive?” he asks indignantly. His words are strained, clipped, but quiet. Geonhak feels like he’s going to choke on smoke, but when he looks at Yonghoon, he realizes Yonghoon has remained unaffected by Seoho’s change in mood. “How else do you explain—” 

“To be frank with you, Seoho, it could just be attraction,” Yonghoon says, and Seoho’s ears flush red. “A less fatal way of transferring and releasing tension.” 

Seoho pulls the sleeve of his sweater down so that the bandages on his hand are only partially visible, like seeing less of that stark white will make it easier for him to forget what he’s done with Geonhak. “Are there ever true pairs who remove their claiming marks?” he asks. The tone of his voice is lighter, but still spreads too thin for the sharp edges of it to be softened. “Or do those just never get recorded?” 

“Not that I’ve ever heard of,” Yonghoon says, tilting his head. He’s intrigued, but he doesn't ask Seoho what prompted the question. 

“What happens if we continue to avoid marking each other?” Geonhak asks. 

“I wish I had better answers for you, but this is a situation I’ve never encountered before so I’m really not sure,” Yonghoon says. “You’ll probably have to come back for a check in once I get more information from the tests. Like I said before, it’s too soon for us to know right away, but I’d keep in close contact as much as you can.” 

“Isn’t it better to maintain a distance?” Seoho asks. 

“That depends on what kind of result you want,” Yonghoon replies, looking between him and Geonhak. “You didn’t bite each other, but you’ll be hypersensitive to each other’s bodies now that you’ve gotten close enough for your scents to mix. It’s safer to proceed as if you were a true pair so we can avoid any unpredictable reactions on the chance that you separate for too long.” 

When Seoho has no further questions, Yonghoon smiles at both of them and slides his notes to the side of his desk, near his laptop. “Should we take those samples now?” 

◒ ◒ ◒

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you making Seoho wear your jacket,” Yonghoon says to Geonhak when Seoho gets whisked away by one of the quiet beta nurses to get his blood drawn. “Did you really think I was going to get aggressive with him?” 

“What do you mean?” Geonhak asks, smiling. “He was cold.” 

It’s a tactic that’s sometimes utilized when introducing two alphas who may potentially clash in non-neutral territory. Seoho is not the type to cause problems, and Yonghoon is diplomatic with even the most belligerent of patients, but Geonhak still wanted to make Yonghoon more comfortable no matter how transparent the strategy was going to appear to his cousin. 

“He’s not much of an idealist,” Yonghoon says. “He seems very opposed to the possibility that you two are a true pair.” 

“He doesn’t like it when his emotions feel out of his control,” Geonhak says without thinking too much, and he can feel Yonghoon studying him. “What?” 

“I’d thought that maybe you were just being kind, from the way you were talking about him on the phone,” Yonghoon says. “But you like him.” 

“I do,” Geonhak says. _Like_ is a word that’s insufficient to describe feelings so expansive they seem to stretch across the horizon, when there are so many things Geonhak “likes” that he’d be willing to give up in a heartbeat if it means having Seoho. 

“It must be hard for you two to get along when you’re secretly a romantic at heart,” Yonghoon says. “Although…” 

Geonhak snorts. “How did you come to that conclusion?” 

He means to deny it, because the word _romantic_ seems to better describe people like Youngjo, who loves wearing flowers in his hair and in his jewelry as much as he loves gifting real ones to Hwanwoong. Geonhak sees the bouquets sometimes, always different colors and different sizes, at the top of Hwanwoong’s designated storage cubby in the dance locker rooms. 

But then he realizes one of the doors down the hall is opening, and the nurse is coming out with Seoho, whose scent strengthens for a moment as they head in the opposite direction of Yonghoon’s office. The smoke goes sweet before it’s accompanied by an airy tinge of amusement. Seoho is happy, comfortable, laughing at a joke the nurse has made and that realization makes Geonhak pleased even if he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. 

“I wonder,” Yonghoon says, mimicking the smile that Geonhak hadn’t even realized was on his own face, and Geonhak scrunches his nose at the teasing. “I can appreciate his skepticism, though. He doesn’t seem the type to get carried away by the opportunity to be loved unless it’s on his own terms, or care very much about destiny. There are people who think a claiming bite works like marriage, that it’ll magically resolve every underlying issue in a relationship when it only disguises things for a bit.” 

“That’s naive, isn’t it? Like going on vacation every time the weather’s bad at home,” Geonhak says, and Yonghoon laughs loudly before changing the subject. 

“He wasn’t being fully honest,” Yonghoon remarks. “I guess he’s uncomfortable when it comes to being around medical professionals?” He’d picked up on the sourness of anxiety rolling off of Seoho, then, just as much as Geonhak had. 

“He didn’t want to go to a hospital when his rut started,” Geonhak says. “I didn’t think anything of it, because they just shove you in a room and drug you up, but…” 

“But what?” 

“I think his suppressants also act as really intense scent blockers, or he takes something else with the suppressants,” Geonhak says. “Only omegas or betas typically use scent blockers, if they even choose to do it, right?” 

“Really?” Yonghoon says, before following that up with a contemplative hum. “Well, everyone has a different reason for doing it. Most people use it depending on how unsafe they feel in a specific event or situation, though.” 

“Yeah,” Geonhak says. That’s what makes it weirder, that Seoho is one of the strongest alphas Geonhak has ever met, both physically and mentally, and he’s potentially taking a cocktail of prescription drugs to keep his status nearly undetectable and his emotions at bay when they wouldn’t cause him trouble anyways. 

“Was he using them on the day that his rut started?” Yonghoon asks. “Even if you two have a potential connection as a true pair, scent blockers would have prevented you from being affected by it.” 

“I think they wore off,” Geonhak says. “That was the first time I caught his real scent, since I normally can’t really detect it.” 

“This is looking to be more complicated than I expected,” Yonghoon says with a sigh, and Geonhak’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” Geonhak asks. 

“I mean you have your work cut out for you,” Yonghoon says. “How long have you known him?” 

“A few years.” Seoho had been blonde, at orientation. Geonhak hadn’t known his name yet, just watched out of the corner of his eye every time Seoho happened to come into his vision, wondering whether the werewolf in the baggy hoodie and cargo pants with the lazy grin knew his smile was shaped like a heart or how nice his laugh would sound as a ringtone on Geonhak’s phone. 

“And you’d never smelled him up until a few days ago?” Yonghoon clicks his tongue, doubtful. “Not even the first time you met him?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“If I were you, I’d think long and hard about that,” Yonghoon says with an imploring look, and Geonhak feels curiosity that doesn’t belong to him trickling into his scent, like a distant question that’s being asked underwater as well as a warning sign given from someone hundreds of feet in the air on a bridge above everyone else on the ground: _this is a fire you need to escape_. “I have my suspicions that you knew what he smelled like long before this week, just that you forgot it.” 

Geonhak finds it hard to believe that he’d ever forget a scent as compelling and absorbing as Seoho’s, but he makes a mental note to comb through any old conversations and interactions with Seoho later in case he’d overlooked a detail.

◒ ◒ ◒

“Are you upset?” Geonhak asks Seoho, after their appointment ends. They’re standing in the parking lot, and it’s a little warmer out than it’d been an hour ago. Geonhak’s bomber jacket is slipping off of one of Seoho’s shoulders, so Geonhak reaches out to pull the collar back up, pleased when Seoho doesn’t brush him off from doing it. 

“Why would I be upset?” Seoho asks, sending Geonhak an unimpressed look. 

“I didn’t tell you he was an alpha,” Geonhak says. Seoho’s scent is neutral for Seoho standards right now, but it doesn’t change the fact that Geonhak had been dragged along a roller coaster of minute dips and twists as Seoho’s emotions struggled to balance themselves out when they were still inside the clinic. “And you seemed uncomfortable in his office the whole time.” 

“There is no issue,” Seoho says, his way of carefully shifting the direction of the conversation without actually answering the question. 

“Do you want me to make it up to you by buying you breakfast?” Geonhak asks. When he checks his phone, it’s only a few minutes past nine, which means they still have two hours to burn until Seoho’s class starts at eleven. 

“That’s strange. All of your favors just consist of you getting me to spend more time with you.” 

“Oh no, you’ve seen through me,” Geonhak deadpans, and Seoho laughs. “An additional bonus to free food, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t eat processed food, though?” Seoho jokes. “I eat one month’s worth of rabbits on the night of the full moon—” 

His giggle vibrates out of him when Geonhak shakes him by the shoulder. “Please~ I don’t have anything to look forward to for the rest of the day,” Geonhak whines, pulling Seoho into a headlock. “Just a lot of work, and dance practice with a team full of control freaks who don’t actually know what they’re doing.” 

“That sounds like a problem that has nothing to do with me,” Seoho says, and Geonhak wrinkles his nose at him. 

“We should exchange schedules,” Geonhak says. 

“What is this? High school?” 

“No,” Geonhak says, licking his lip absentmindedly as he considers the old pictures of Seoho he’s seen resurface occasionally on Facebook every time Seoho’s high school friends want to tease him. All the photographs are cute, and Geonhak would have had a significantly harder time focusing on his studies if he’d had Seoho as a classmate. “So I know when you have free time.” 

“Don’t count on there being any for you,” Seoho says, squeaking when Geonhak begins to tickle him on the sides of his ribs. “Stopppppp—” 

“I will, once you agree to breakfast _and_ to giving me your schedule.” 

“Fine,” Seoho says, and he coughs in relief as Geonhak lets go of him. “I thought I was going to perish. Death caused by werewolf tickles.” 

“As if,” Geonhak says. “Imagine my horror every time your claws came near my throat.” 

Seoho hums, one corner of his mouth lifting. His eyes are still their calm, soothing brown color, but the look in them reminds Geonhak of the smug, self-assured Seoho in rut who’d taken to drawing patterns in Geonhak’s bare skin with sharpened claws instead of paintbrushes or pencils, pressing hard enough to make Geonhak shiver but light enough that the threat of danger wasn’t a real one. 

“Horror?” he says, giving Geonhak a careful once-over that makes it suddenly difficult for Geonhak to breathe, even more so when he reaches out to touch Geonhak’s hip. “Is that how people describe their kinks, these days?” 

“I hate you.” 

“You wish,” Seoho says, smirking, and Geonhak almost hates that he can’t deny it. “Where are you gonna take me for breakfast, wolf boy?” 

“You’re a wolf boy, too,” Geonhak says. “Don’t call me that.” 

“What would you rather I call you?” Seoho asks, biting his lip. There’s a brief blur of fang before it’s back to his regular teeth, and Geonhak wonders if it’s just his embarrassment that’s making him see things. “...Alpha~?” 

“Why are you doing this?” Geonhak whines, annoyed, and he can’t help his eyes flashing hazel in a cross between irritation at Seoho’s bullying and embarrassingly enough, _interest_ at Seoho’s usage of the term. 

“Found another kink,” Seoho says, and he howls in laughter as Geonhak grabs him to retaliate, but it doesn’t take long before his giggly apologies and silly faces finally get through to Geonhak and leave Geonhak laughing into his shoulder as well, their body heat bleeding into each other through where they’re pressed together. 

◐ ◐ ◐

With Seoho, Geonhak learns to read in between the lines. 

Geonhak has always been tactful even if he doesn’t look the type, and people aren’t that hard to understand if you’re looking for the right things, if you’re paying attention to not just what they’re saying but _how_ they’re saying it as well. 

But Seoho is especially puzzling, like an ever evolving riddle that changes its answer every time Geonhak thinks he’s edging closer to the solution. Against Geonhak’s considerably more unrestrained disposition, Seoho’s mind is an opponent that proves effective in remaining impenetrable, a tightly shut box with complex locking mechanisms that only open up if Geonhak happens to stumble upon the right word or gesture, and even then, they only unlock for a mere second before they’re pulled back shut and concealed even better in the shadows. 

However, Geonhak thinks that with enough determination, his slow, paced out attempts to chip away at Seoho might just work. They’re not complete opposites, after all, both of them private with their emotions although Seoho’s tendency to deflect is a little more orchestrated, like he’s maneuvering the camera lens so that every frame presents a new red herring to make sure the audience is never actually focused on the thing they’re looking for. 

It makes Geonhak wonder whether it’s possible that the answer to Seoho’s riddle of a personality has always dangled in front of his face, and it’s just too close for Geonhak to register that it’s even there. 

Seoho likes singing. He does it more when he’s in a good mood and he hasn’t become self conscious enough to reel it in yet, and the melody he’s humming today is an eerily familiar one that Geonhak doesn’t identify until a good ten seconds have passed and he recognizes the arrangement as the uniquely modified track to an older dance performance of his, a solo one. 

“The song you’re humming,” Geonhak says, and Seoho glances up at him, unsuspecting. 

They’re on Geonhak’s bed, somehow positioned so that Seoho is half lying down, his back and neck supported by Geonhak’s thigh while Geonhak sits cross legged and leans his back against the wall. Geonhak doesn’t usually study this way, but Seoho had gotten comfortable while watching something on his phone, like a cat who’d finally settled on the perfect square of sunlight to nap in, and Geonhak doesn’t have the heart to make him move. And besides, at this proximity it’s easy for Geonhak to ask Seoho to explain something to him whenever he runs into a sentence in his reading that’s particularly convoluted in structure and meaning. 

(“Aren’t you a writing tutor?” Seoho’d asked Geonhak, earlier, with a raised eyebrow even as he took the stapled handout from Geonhak, scanning the section Geonhak’d circled with pencil. “They don’t give those positions out easily.” 

“I was recommended by a teacher in my first year, so I bypassed the usual application process,” Geonhak had explained. “The truth is that I don’t like reading. And why wouldn’t I take advantage of a literature major, especially one who’s curled up in my lap so cutely?” 

“You’d be surprised how many people get through three years of overpriced education without ever opening the books they’re writing extensive papers on,” Seoho had replied. 

Then he’d considered the last part of what Geonhak had said, going quiet. 

“I’ll shred up your handout into a billion pieces if you say that one more time,” he’d settled on after a momentary pause, and Geonhak had bumped the back of his head into the wall from laughing so hard.) 

“What about it?” 

“Have you watched my dance performances?” Geonhak says. There are videos on their school’s Youtube channel, but their department has done a poor job of managing the content and it’s difficult to find what you’re looking for unless you’re willing to wade into the uploads waist deep to locate them. Geonhak doesn’t really promote the videos he appears in, either, so it could just be that Seoho had attended the performance when it’d happened over a year ago, but even then...

“Why would you…” Seoho asks, and then realizes. From where his thigh is touching Seoho’s shoulders, Geonhak can physically feel Seoho stiffen. 

Seoho could just brush it off. It doesn’t have to mean anything, when plenty of other people have gone out of their way to tell Geonhak they like his dancing without any ulterior motives, forgetting about the videos they’ve watched of him as soon as they move on to whatever the next priority in their life is. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, when just yesterday Seoho had been casually and unapologetically shameless about trying to steal the Doritos chip out of Geonhak’s mouth for himself instead of getting his own from the bag, tilting his head cutely and asking Geonhak whether that was what Yonghoon had meant when he’d recommended for them to stick close to each other. 

But then Seoho’s ears flush pink with embarrassment, a self incriminating reaction accompanied by the sudden flood of warmth in his scent ( _affection_ , in the language of Seoho’s body), and that cements Geonhak’s growing suspicions that Seoho’s acceptance of Geonhak being so clingy isn’t just passive tolerance on Seoho’s part. 

“I have,” Seoho says eventually. “You must have worked really hard to get so good.”

Not an offhand remark about how lucky Geonhak is to be able to perform on stage, or how much talent he was born with. The spaces in between the words Seoho chooses to say, the words he _does_ choose to say… every single inhale, syllable, and pause is so important, and Geonhak doesn’t know where to put his affection when his heart’s already running at overcapacity. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“That’s sudden.” Seoho narrows his eyes, as Geonhak leans over him. The transformation in Seoho’s expression is clear, even if his features are upside down in Geonhak’s view. “Why?” 

“Bond withdrawal,” Geonhak replies, because it doesn’t really matter what excuse he comes up with when it’s all the same in the end, that he can’t see himself ever not wanting to kiss Seoho now that he knows what it’s like. 

“Do whatever you want—” 

Seoho makes a surprised, soft gasp when Geonhak dips his head to press their mouths together, laughing when both of them struggle for a moment to adjust and rewire their brains so they can kiss each other even with a difference of orientations. Then Geonhak bites and sucks at Seoho’s bottom lip, the only difference being that he’s using his lower teeth and not his upper, front ones to sink into the sensitive skin on the inside of Seoho’s mouth, and the smoky sweetness of Seoho’s rare display of delight makes exhilaration trickle into Geonhak’s own system until he can’t feel anything else. 

◐ ◐ ◐

“You only asked if you could kiss me,” Seoho says a while later, when Geonhak is all the way inside of him, “so how did we end up here?” 

Geonhak isn’t sure, either. He’d only wanted to kiss Seoho a little, but then Seoho had made a really cute whimper when Geonhak’s hands had wandered, and Geonhak’s motivation for continuing his reading had promptly dwindled down to nothing. Video art history can wait, especially when the performative nature of early era video diaries isn’t all that interesting compared to the moving installation of the hard planes and soft indents making up Seoho’s body, encompassing the wolf sleeping underneath sheep’s skin. 

Desire is easy to act on when Seoho makes it too easy and not at all scary. He’d mumbled mean-spirited comments at Geonhak despite pulling Geonhak in by the neck for better aligned kisses once their faces were within the same realm of orientations. _Your lips are chapped,_ he’d said tauntingly, as Geonhak’s mouth melted down to nothing against his, or _you’re going to crush me,_ before he’d fit his palms around the curves of Geonhak’s ass and squeezed briefly, a touch too possessive for someone who kept talking about them maintaining a _distance_. 

Geonhak laughs with the hem of his shirt still in his mouth, originally done so that he could see what he was doing and admire where their bodies were connected, but he lets the material fall from between his teeth so that he can talk. 

“You want me to pull out?” Geonhak asks, not really meaning it, but he forces his eyes back up to Seoho’s face and lets his hands fall from Seoho’s waist to palm at Seoho’s ass. Earlier, Seoho had been more than enthusiastic about Geonhak stretching him open, and he would have tried to fuck himself on Geonhak’s fingers faster if Geonhak hadn’t held him firmly in place, purposely keeping things slow so that he could watch every ripple of pleasure travel through Seoho’s body and manifest in the way Seoho’s abs tightened or the way his thighs tried to close at the overstimulation. 

When Geonhak withdraws just a bit to tease Seoho, Seoho gives him an annoyed look that’s instantly betrayed by the soft, breathy exhale that spills from his mouth and ends on a needy note instead of a petulant one. “Hmm?” Geonhak hums playfully, smiling at Seoho. “Answer my question~” 

“You’re so _slow_ ,” Seoho complains, as Geonhak pulls his shirt up by the back of his collar and then over his head so that it’s no longer in the way. “Are you going to fuck me for real, or just think about it?” 

“Does it look like I’m only _thinking_ about it right now?” Geonhak asks, reaching up to thumb at Seoho’s nipple, accessible thanks to the fact that Geonhak had pushed Seoho’s shirt all the way up to his chest earlier and left it there because he’d been too impatient to wait for Seoho to take it off. Seoho jerks a little, and Geonhak can tell he’s on edge and not that far off from reaching climax, judging by the way Seoho’s cock is leaking onto his stomach and the slight, constant tremble to his whole body. Seoho is so pretty, and Geonhak is so lucky. “There are more than one ways to fuck someone, aren’t there?” 

“So show me a new way,” Seoho says, huffing. He’s good at pretending he’s still in control, and Geonhak is more than happy to oblige him in upholding the illusion. “And stop teasing.” 

Everything is slick, slippery. Nearly all of it is the lube, because Geonhak is always careful to make sure Seoho’s fully ready even if Seoho more often than not tells him to hurry up. Geonhak would much rather break Seoho down emotionally than physically, and that much is evident from his personal enjoyment in watching Seoho inhale sharp and desperate as Geonhak pulls out almost all the way, torturously slow before sliding back in fast enough that it’s like he never left in the first place. 

“Fuck,” Seoho hisses, subsequent moan sounding like his body can’t decide whether to focus on catching his breath or taking in the pleasure first. Every noise he makes is cut off by the next gasp of concurrent relief and plead for mercy, chest expanding and rising for each thrust from Geonhak that leaves him particularly wrecked. 

“So pretty,” Geonhak says, and Seoho blinks lazily up at him, his lips falling open slightly at the simple but sweet compliment. Geonhak lets his thrusts slow to a calmer pace, but the drag of this type of friction, when you can focus on every millimeter’s worth of it, is enough to push Seoho closer and closer to the edge. “Aren’t you?” 

Seoho’s tongue darts out to swipe across the plushest part of his lower lip. “You, too,” he says, averting his gaze. 

Geonhak nearly misses it, because he’s too preoccupied looking at the sheen of sweat all over Seoho’s smooth, golden skin. “Hm?” 

“You’re pretty, too,” Seoho says, staring up at Geonhak through his lashes and half lidded eyes, and those three words are all it takes for Geonhak to fully _fall_. 

For someone who smiles so much, Seoho is not very verbal with compliments. In his spectrum of emotions, he’s always somewhere in between smug and irritated, with an occasional outlier of pure happiness whenever Geonhak takes a genuine interest in what Seoho’s writing about for his courses. Seoho has never come outright and said that Geonhak is attractive from his point of view, but he does give Geonhak a knowing look every time they’re out in public and they pass by a group of girls who are whispering and glancing repeatedly at them. _How does it feel to be even the favorite of strangers,_ Seoho will say, implying that Geonhak’s a favorite of his, too, but remarks like that are passing ones, which only come as a side effect ricocheting off of other people’s reactions to Geonhak’s appearance. 

“Say it again,” Geonhak says, and Seoho laughs once he sees the way Geonhak’s face lights up, clearly having heard Seoho just fine the second time. “I couldn’t hear you properly.”

“Now you’re just pushing your luck,” Seoho says, but he pulls Geonhak in by the neck and repeats his compliment against the shell of Geonhak’s ear, and all things considered, Geonhak doesn’t think his luck is half bad. 

◐ ◐ ◐

Geonhak likes it more than anything else when Seoho smells like him, even if things get messy. 

“Shower?” he asks, after he’s indulged himself in scent marking Seoho to his heart’s content and spreading their mixed release all over Seoho’s chest and stomach and neck. 

“Wouldn’t that undo all your hard work?” Seoho asks sarcastically, wincing at the stickiness on his skin, and Geonhak laughs. 

“I can just do it again,” Geonhak says before he licks a stripe up the side of Seoho’s cheek. 

“You have to do your homework eventually,” Seoho says. Something reserved, guilty, trickles into his scent, but Geonhak doesn’t pay enough attention to it at first because he’s still in a haze. Then the sour undertone of Seoho’s smell is gone as quickly as it’d arrived, and Geonhak thinks that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. 

Geonhak reaches out to take Seoho’s hand, and Seoho lets him. “My rut’s coming up, if it’s on schedule and doesn’t start earlier than usual,” Geonhak says. It’s not so much a hint as it is a neon sign displaying what Geonhak wants from Seoho, but Seoho’s hum of acknowledgement is noncommittal. 

“Okay,” Seoho says. He seems to want to pull away, and Geonhak lets go of his hand only to wrap his fingers around Seoho’s forearm with a renewed, stronger grip on Seoho before the alpha can escape.

“Spend it with me,” Geonhak says, tilting his head. “I helped with yours~” 

“You _brought me to your apartment_ ,” Seoho argues, lowering his voice and glaring at Geonhak. Briefly, his irises shift silver, but they’re back to their usual shade of brown when he blinks. “How else was I going to react when the whole fucking place was filled with your smell?” 

“What a coincidence, I like how you smell, too,” Geonhak says, and he laughs when he sees the way Seoho bristles defensively at the words, like they’re more insulting than they are sweet. “So do the same for me, and take me to your place when the time comes.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Seoho says. Then he runs a hand through his inky black hair, stressed out by Geonhak’s persistence, but he looks so handsome that Geonhak can’t help leaning in to peck him on the cheek. “Geonhak.” 

Geonhak raises his eyebrows and offers his best shot at an innocent, hopeful smile. “Seoho.” 

“Can’t you just…” Seoho frowns. That unpleasant, sour smell is back, and now Geonhak knows he’s not imagining it. “It’s not like you don’t have options, if you really wanted someone to spend your rut with.” 

Geonhak frowns at him. “Why would I bother looking at other options when I have you in front of me?”

“That’s not you,” Seoho says. Those words are familiar. “It’s just convenient—” 

“Is that what I am to you?” Geonhak asks, and he doesn’t realize his eyes have shifted hazel until Seoho holds back a flinch. Dropping his head, Geonhak waits until he’s calmer before he looks back up at Seoho. “A convenience?” 

“No,” Seoho says immediately, frantic to reassure Geonhak, and Geonhak can tell he’s being honest. “It’s just...it’s easy to get swept away when you don’t know whether we’re actually going through bond withdrawal or not.” 

“You’re so fixated on that,” Geonhak says. It’s rare for Seoho to bring up anything related to the topic of true pairs because he seems to want to curl in on himself every time they stumble upon it by accident. “Why does it matter? Is something wrong?” 

Seoho shakes his head. The way he’s looking at Geonhak, though, is reminiscent of his expression every time Geonhak goes out of his way to do something nice for him or kisses Seoho’s neck in a moment of tenderness, like he doesn’t think he deserves such adoration. 

“I’m not the sort of person who’s happy with attention from anyone,” Geonhak says. Seoho’s smile feels empty, and Geonhak doesn’t know how to bring back its usual fullness. “You should know that from how much time we spend together, so what else are you worried about?” 

“Nothing, I guess,” Seoho says, and as Geonhak gets up to look for a change of clothes, he wonders why Seoho doesn’t sound reassured at all. 

◓ ◓ ◓

“Don’t get attached to me,” Seoho whispers into Geonhak’s hair, after they’ve both showered and Geonhak has persuaded Seoho to sleep over for the night. He probably says it because he thinks Geonhak has fallen asleep, like he hopes that Geonhak will understand what those words mean if he hears Seoho’s voice in his dreams. 

Geonhak is awake, even if his eyes are closed and he hasn’t moved for a while. When Seoho had gotten close to him, he’d thought Seoho was going to do something cute, like mess with his hair and try to weave a braid through Geonhak’s too-short locks. Instead, Seoho has said something that makes it seem as if he’s leaving to go somewhere far away, and Geonhak doesn’t understand why. 

_Where are you going?_ Geonhak wants to ask, but he’s afraid to hear the answer, and when Seoho’s breaths start to even out, Geonhak hugs Seoho close to him, afraid that Seoho will slip out from his embrace when Geonhak’s not paying attention and never come back. 

◓ ◓ ◓

It occurs to Geonhak a few days later, when he discovers he still has one of Seoho’s shirts at his place and buries his nose in it instinctively, that Yonghoon is right.

The first time Geonhak had encountered Seoho’s real scent wasn’t when Seoho had gone in rut, but at their university’s charity gala from over a year ago. A select few of the dance majors had been required to be in attendance because they would be performing a number of acts, and those few included Geonhak and Dongju. 

Geonhak had planned on only showing up for the performances, put off by the hassle involved with obtaining proper attire for the rest of the event if he wanted to attend it as a guest, but Dongju had dragged Geonhak to go suit shopping with him and half-bullied Geonhak into buying a suit too, much to the dismay of Geonhak’s bank account and his aversion to large social gatherings. 

“Seems like Seoho is going,” Dongju’d told Geonhak the day of the event, while they were packing their clothes to put in the car before driving over.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That you won’t be bored, because you’ll have something pretty to look at all night,” Dongju had replied, and Geonhak had regretted asking at all. Dongju always found some way to be obnoxiously perceptive, even more so because they’d been friends for such a long time, and Geonhak hadn’t needed the reminder of his inexplicable attachment to a werewolf who never wanted to get too close to him. 

The performance had been fine. Geonhak had been unsatisfied with a few parts, but it wasn’t a competition, just a performance, and he’d reminded himself that most of the audience couldn’t tell the difference between a good or bad day for him. Hwanwoong and Dongju had done well, although they’d had their own grievances with their individual performances, which made sense coming from two of the best dancers in the department. 

As soon as the suits were on, the evening had turned uneventful. There was only so much you could do with expensive clothes on, like drink and eat and _socialize_ , and Geonhak wasn’t interested in making conversation if it was just going to be unfamiliar omegas and betas batting their eyelashes at him and attempting to align their personalities to match his when they didn’t even know him in the first place. 

Dongju had pulled Geonhak in the direction of the dance floor, when he’d noticed Geonhak slowly but surely retreating to the corners of the giant room. “Not so fast,” he’d said, and Geonhak had laughed as he’d gotten caught on the wrist by Dongju’s small but wiry grip. 

“Haven’t you had enough dancing for today?” 

“Well, no,” Dongju had said. “I just want it to be not high strung and anxiety filled, sometimes.” He’d given a quick scan of the crowd around them, and that had reminded Geonhak to let his eyes stop wandering. “Did you find Seoho yet?” 

“I wasn’t looking for him.” 

Dongju had given him a pointed look that said he knew Geonhak was full of shit. “Right. ‘Cause you totally get that wide eyed puppy stare waiting for omegas to come up and talk to you about the weather.” 

“Shut up,” Geonhak had replied. “You’re the one who told me he was going to be here.” 

“Because I’m a great friend who knows what you want before you do,” Dongju had said, causing Geonhak to scrunch his nose. “I’ll be jamming out with a couple friends over there. Let me know if you wanna go home early or whatever, okay?” 

“Okay,” Geonhak had said, and then Dongju had left him to his own devices. 

Geonhak had waded through the crowd, unsure of his destination and purpose, before he’d promptly froze at the sudden awareness of a scent completely foreign to him. 

A honey like smoke ingrained into the scent of coffee, filling the air steadily and near instantly until it was all Geonhak could pay attention to despite the hundreds of werewolves in the venue. Demanding and charismatic in the same way an alpha was expected to smell, but nuanced enough that even if Geonhak couldn’t focus on anything else, he wouldn’t be driven to aggression from the notes of it being too overpowering. Geonhak had looked around to see if anyone was smelling whatever his senses were being overwhelmed with, but Dongju had just given him an odd look from where he was dancing with a few betas twenty feet away, and every person standing in Geonhak’s general vicinity had seemed nearly unaffected, continuing their conversations as if nothing had changed. 

Then Geonhak had seen Seoho. 

Seoho had been dressed in a dark navy suit, with a white dress shirt that he’d left unbuttoned enough to expose a sliver of pale chest. His hair was dark brown if not black, and it hardly caught any light, his fringe shaped like a comma on his forehead and the rest of his hair curling attractively around his ears and neck. 

_Do you see me?_ something inside of Geonhak had murmured, almost pleaded. It was a thought he never would have voiced out loud, not even really a conscious thought. The wolf inside of him liked to play games sometimes and drag Geonhak back into its depths to make sure Geonhak still knew what he was made of when his propriety was peeled away to nothing. 

But Seoho’s eyes had promptly drifted before locking in on Geonhak as if answering that unspoken question. It could have been the fact that Geonhak’s hair had been a dull blue, then, residual color left over from a performance and video filming project a few weeks before the gala, that had drawn Seoho’s gaze to him. 

Seoho’s face hadn’t paled, and he hadn’t looked like he was going to throw up, but it’d only taken a split second glance between them and a moment of inexplicable instinct kicking in for Geonhak to realize that Seoho was _sick_ with something, and then Seoho was wrenching himself in the opposite direction, covering his mouth as he once again expanded that impossibly long distance between them. 

Later, he’d heard from Hwanwoong that Seoho had gotten too sick to spend the rest of the evening at the gala, and that he’d taken a cab to go home early and recover. 

The dots have never connected until now. There was no reason to connect them, seeing as Geonhak had grown accustomed to associating Seoho with the scent of the sea and salt and the cold, and he’d never thought to question the status of the werewolf he wanted to know better because it wasn’t where his interest in Seoho stemmed from. 

Even so, drawing a few lines of connection doesn’t mean Geonhak is any closer to unveiling the big picture, not when he still hasn’t figured out why Seoho is so against the idea of true pairs but lets Geonhak do practically everything to him that a potential mate would, or why Seoho’s combined usage of suppressants and scent blockers had perplexed Yonghoon so deeply when they’d visited his clinic. 

Geonhak sighs. It’d be easier if this was the sort of thing he could ask about, but Seoho is so _private_ , and Geonhak knows that what vulnerabilities Seoho already shares with him is more than enough to be grateful for. 

He nuzzles at Seoho’s shirt while he deliberates, knowing that doing so will make it smell more like him than Seoho if he presses his face in the material for too long, but it’s comforting. Geonhak will just wash the shirt and get Seoho to wear it again. 

◑ ◑ ◑

The next time Geonhak sees Seoho, Seoho’s hair is shorter. “Did you get a haircut?” 

“Yes.” Seoho smiles at him thinly. 

“It looks nice,” Geonhak says. “I’m glad it was only a trim, though.”

“Why?”

“There’s more curl to it when it’s longer,” Geonhak says. His mind drifts to the way Seoho’s hair had looked spread out against Geonhak’s pillowcase, and Seoho narrows his eyes when the caramel in Geonhak’s scent inevitably goes sharp and raw at the edges with want. 

“We’re in public,” is Seoho’s amused reply, a reminder for Geonhak to _behave,_ but the command is delivered absentmindedly. “My sister cut it for me.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Geonhak says. Seoho has never mentioned a sibling before. “Was she in town for a visit or…” 

“She was here for business but had some time to come and bug me,” Seoho says, offering no further information. “What did you need to buy again?” 

Seoho is more subdued today. He doesn’t provoke Geonhak even once, just smiles fondly every time Geonhak thinks he’s rambled too long and has lost Seoho to Seoho’s selectively spaced attention span, and he lets Geonhak lean into him when Geonhak has finished scouting potential outfits for his next dance performance and they’re figuring out what to eat in the food court. 

It’s as exhilarating as it is unnerving. Geonhak is an idealist with his reservations, and he knows Seoho well enough by now that the uncharacteristic behavior leaves him vigilant and apprehensive rather than flattered. 

More than anything else, there’s a dull ache in his chest that intensifies every time Seoho gets close and Geonhak picks up on the sour leaning note of coffee in Seoho’s smoke dominated scent. Seoho isn’t trying to hide it, has given up on making Geonhak ignore paying attention to his emotions because Geonhak is too empathetic to do such a thing, and he’d told Geonhak that he didn’t mind Geonhak bringing up what he detected in Seoho’s mood in conversation as long as he wasn’t too invasive. 

Even then, Geonhak picks and chooses his battles. Most times Geonhak can tell when Seoho is okay with opening up, because there will be a subtle lilt to the change in his mood, as if he’s waiting for an answer to an implicit question and wants that answer to be given by Geonhak. Some of Seoho’s other reactions, on the other hand, catch Geonhak off guard because they’re gone as quickly as they appear, like the curl of jealousy that wraps itself around Geonhak’s waist in an imaginary tail when an innocent omega store clerk tries to be helpful or the brief spark of exasperation that sometimes follows right after Seoho shares a piece of information about himself that leans too personal. 

“You’re being more affectionate than usual,” Geonhak says, when they’re walking through the basement parking lot underneath the mall structure. They came to the mall in separate cars because Seoho has a group meeting scheduled to start soon after this, and Geonhak doesn’t need to go back to school for the rest of the day. “Why?” 

“I can’t be nice to you?” Seoho asks. “Or is it that you like me being mean?” 

“I like you fine either way,” Geonhak says, and he doesn’t know why that makes Seoho flinch. Seoho does a more than decent job at hiding it quickly, schooling his expression into something that’s resolutely nonchalant, but the reaction doesn’t go unnoticed because Geonhak is always paying attention to him. “Something’s wrong, right?” 

“No,” Seoho says. “I’m just not feeling well today.” 

“You shouldn’t have agreed to meet up with me then,” Geonhak says. He’s not entirely convinced that’s the sole reason behind Seoho being so weird, but Seoho’s explanation makes sense, too, because his routine antics are powered by all the excessive energy he doesn't know what to do with unless he’s bullying someone, and if he’s sick, it means he doesn't have the spare energy to stir trouble no matter how much he wishes to. 

“I wanted to see you,” Seoho says, and Geonhak’s chest squeezes in on itself. “Needed a bit of that stupid puppy happiness that forces me to feel happy, too, by sheer exposure.” 

“It’s okay to like spending time with someone, Seoho,” Geonhak says, expecting Seoho to reply with a quip to put Geonhak in his place. Instead, Seoho just smiles at him, not disagreeing, and the sight of that is even weirder than Seoho admitting he wanted to see Geonhak in the first place. 

Contrary to their peaceful, amicable conversation, there’s a mystifying loneliness that pulls at the hem of Geonhak’s jacket and at every lift of his foot before he prepares to take another step, and it makes Geonhak wonder why he feels like he’s lost something when there isn’t anything he can pinpoint being wrong. 

After all, Seoho is standing right in front of Geonhak, with tired but bright eyes and a smile that looks as soft as Geonhak remembers it feeling against his own, and he’s been so kind as to take time out of his already busy day to accompany Geonhak on a little window shopping trip and getaway. 

“Can I kiss you?” Geonhak asks. 

“The last time you asked that, it didn’t end at a kiss,” Seoho says teasingly, but he’s the one to drag Geonhak behind a pillar and kiss him at an angle where no one will see them, and with Seoho sucking on Geonhak’s bottom lip and swallowing every noise Geonhak makes, Geonhak soon finds it difficult to focus on anything beyond the way Seoho’s mouth feels on his. 

◒ ◒ ◒

“The test results came in a few days ago,” Yonghoon says, when Geonhak and Seoho have made themselves comfortable in the seats around the coffee table Yonghoon directs them to for today’s appointment. Geonhak doesn’t realize Yonghoon is watching them, cataloguing the way Seoho allows Geonhak to lean into him without fighting back, but Seoho bristles and shifts his gaze when Yonghoon clears his throat, and that has Geonhak turning to look back at his cousin. 

“A true pair, as I suspected,” Yonghoon says. “I only wanted to confirm it. Compatibility nearly broke the charts.” 

It’s supposed to be good news, Geonhak thinks, but when he thinks about Seoho’s increasingly strange behavior in the last week along with the worrying sourness creeping back into Seoho’s scent, he’s not sure what to feel. 

Geonhak’s voice sounds hollow even to himself. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Yonghoon says, before he turns to address Seoho. “You knew that, though. Right, Seoho?” 

Seoho’s eyes flicker upwards. “What?” 

“I thought it was strange,” Yonghoon says, “that an alpha in such good health would have an adverse reaction to more than one type of suppressant when most combinations of suppressants for alphas have proven to be the opposite: even more effective.” 

“What does that mean?” Geonhak asks. 

“It means that Seoho knows a little more than he’s let on,” Yonghoon says, resting his face in the palm of his hand as he watches Seoho. His gaze isn’t accusatory, but Seoho’s knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s clenching his fists. “You probably knew what was going to happen when you let me take those samples for testing, Seoho.” 

“I’d hoped that the tests might turn up wrong,” Seoho says, and Geonhak doesn’t like that he has such a hard time recognizing the person behind that voice. There’s defeat, and guilt, and Geonhak feels like he’s being pulled to the bottom of the ocean after hitting an iceberg he hadn’t seen right in front of him. “I don’t…” 

“An alpha with no medical history in our national werewolf database for the last six years,” Yonghoon says, gently, and Geonhak feels dread crawling up his throat. “Where would you be getting your unusually high dosage of suppressants when there’s not even a digital paper trail for it? Not with any physician who wants to keep their license, that’s for sure, considering how dangerously high the concentration levels were in the samples.” 

Six years of missing medical history...dangerously high concentration levels of suppressants…

The reveal of crucial information comes as a shock to Geonhak, and when he turns to look at Seoho in confusion, Seoho just averts his gaze. “Seoho?” Geonhak says. 

Seoho’s voice sounds empty as he says, “I’ll explain it to you later, so…” 

Yonghoon asks, “Were those really just suppressants?” 

“They’re uncertified. Still in testing,” Seoho replies. With no way of talking around the subject because he has no excuse to run from it any further, his detached frankness is almost frightening. “There are no approved suppressants for alphas that would have diminished the issues I needed to be resolved.” 

“Then the one that wore off almost as soon as you administered it…?” Yonghoon says. 

“That particular drug hasn’t been tested for full effectiveness in all cases of ruts where the individual is exposed to another alpha for a long time, especially one that they have strong intentions towards,” Seoho says. “There’s too little information known about the way true pair bonds behave, let alone ones where the bite is avoidable. I only had a heads up because I’d seen one form from start to finish and knew what signs to pick up on.” 

_You, of all people, should have left me alone._ Geonhak hadn’t understood those words at the time, had simply thought that it was Seoho being difficult or that it was the rut speaking for him. 

“You gave me the impression of being a private person, Seoho, so I apologize for digging around,” Yonghoon says, and Seoho shrugs, “but I was worried…” 

“I wouldn’t have done anything to Geonhak,” Seoho says firmly. “You should know that upfront, more than anything else.” 

“I was worried for you, Seoho, not that you would do anything to Geonhak,” Yonghoon says, shaking his head. “I knew from the beginning that you had no bad intentions. But you have to realize that what you were attempting before was highly impractical and would have led to long term damage to your health.” 

“Yes,” Seoho says. “I know.” 

“So why?” Yonghoon asks. “Why did you pretend not to know that you and Geonhak were a true pair when you’ve been actively taking uncertified medication to hide it for months, if not years?” 

“What?” Geonhak feels like the conversation is trickling down to him from the surface of the water, distorted and thickened after such a long descent to the ocean floor. There is no sunlight here, and Geonhak is not sure when he will be able to breathe again. “So the only reason you took suppressants was to avoid the bond...?” 

“Yes.” Seoho says it all rushed, like his breath is sucked out of him. “Geonhak, I’m sorry.” 

Geonhak wants it to be a lie. He wants Seoho to tell him that Yonghoon’s conclusions were drawn in error, for the missing puzzle pieces to slide into place and make a different, less horrifying result, but Seoho’s face alone is enough for Geonhak to realize the dread building up at the bottom of his stomach is justified. 

The lie isn’t in the analysis of the samples. The lie is in everything else, in the words that Seoho never let fall from his mouth, in his unwillingness to discover what had gone wrong between him and Geonhak during his rut, in Seoho’s nameless guilt that had increased with every passing second that got them closer to this appointment, this moment. Seoho was never curious about what he and Geonhak meant to each other because he’d known all the answers from the start, and he’d simply waited it out until he had no choice but to surrender the truth to Geonhak. 

“Sorry?” Geonhak echoes faintly. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, can barely even believe that he’s been given news that should be _good_ , but instead just settles into his bones like an ache that will never go away. Seoho had known all along that they were predisposed to bonding with each other, and had chosen the route of suffering, had gone out of his way to avoid it. 

Then he considers Seoho’s dulled reactions to strong scents Geonhak sometimes picks up on when they’re walking around outside, and the fact that marks on Seoho always take longer to fade than they do on Geonhak’s body. The fact that Seoho’s hands had remained bandaged for several more days and taken longer to heal than what he’d promised Geonhak. 

“Is it the teal one? The injection?” he asks Seoho. “Is there more than one type you’re taking? Is that why your bite wounds took so long to heal?” 

Yonghoon’s tone of voice is surprised. “Did you see him using them?” 

“I told you not to look,” Seoho hisses. 

“I didn’t,” Geonhak replies. It hurts to know that he’d been willing to play by all of Seoho’s rules and even then, he’s not worth keeping around. Not worth telling the truth to. “I saw it when you were taking it out. Now answer my question.” 

Seoho’s mouth flattens into a line when he looks into Geonhak’s eyes and is met with hazel irises. “I was rotating between a few, yes. The one you’re talking about, though...it produces the same effects for people who want to disguise themselves as betas, but by dulling the sharpness of a lot of werewolf instincts, not just producing a neutral scent. I used it to avoid hurting you and also to avoid being affected as severely by your emotions on a regular basis.” 

Geonhak is finally starting to accept that the puzzle pieces he’s been dealt really do make up that bigger picture he’s been staring at this whole time, and it’s unfolding like a nightmare. “Why?” 

“It’s…” Seoho says. His exhale is shaky. Not unsure in what to say, but unsure in how to say it. 

“You asked me last time, Seoho,” Yonghoon says, “if they ever documented true pairs that didn’t work out.” 

“...They don’t,” Seoho says. His voice goes cold, almost brittle, and Geonhak realizes now that Seoho sounds like this whenever he’s trying to separate himself from feelings he doesn’t want to acknowledge as being part of him. “Once the claiming bites are completed, true pairs are for life, and there is no safe way to break a true pair’s bond that doesn’t cause irreparable damage.” 

Geonhak chews at his lower lip as Yonghoon says, “So the only reason you would have gone to such extreme lengths is because it would still be better than what you’ve seen someone else go through.” 

“It’s nice to imagine that you have a whole life ahead of you with someone who was born to be your other half,” Seoho says, “until you realize now limiting it can be. Like a cage where the bars get closer and closer until there is no way for you to escape.” 

Seoho looks up at Yonghoon, and his eyes are that distinct blue-silver that Geonhak knows so well, but even more striking than their color is the open sorrow that fills them to the brim. Endless rain in a gaze even when there are no tears. “My sister is one half of a partially broken true pair.” 

“There’s very little written on the case study of it,” Yonghoon says. “I only matched it up because of the same last name, and the fact that the time of the report matched up with the time you went off radar in the database.” 

“My sister and her mate were volatile together,” Seoho says. “The doctors couldn’t figure out how to completely destroy their bond without potentially killing one of them. They had to do it on their own.” 

“That bad, huh?” Yonghoon says. “No wonder the report was so difficult to find.” 

“It’s easier to hide the casualties,” Seoho says, and Geonhak closes his eyes. It’s a mistake, because it becomes second nature to pick up on Seoho’s distress this way. With nothing in his vision, Geonhak can only focus on the sound of Seoho’s breathing and the way Seoho’s voice cracks even as he does the best to hold the rest of himself together. 

Agony is so deeply embedded into the smoke of Seoho’s emotions that Geonhak only realizes now it’s one of the main components that’s made up Seoho’s scent this whole time, and he thinks he’s going to suffocate at the hands of such a heartbreaking truth. 

◒ ◒ ◒

Yonghoon measures out predetermined portions of herbs for Seoho from various drawers taking up an entire wall in one of the back rooms. 

“I didn’t realize you studied Eastern medicine as well,” Seoho says, after Yonghoon brings them out in paper bags stapled to each other and hands over the whole thing to him. “Thank you.” 

“It’s not something I advertise all that much, but the people who are interested will find what they’re looking for if they’re searching through the right channels,” Yonghoon says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his white overcoat. “I don’t know the extent of the damage, but based on a few of my observations, I think this will at least accelerate the healing process that I’m sure your body has already started by going off of suppressants for a short while.” 

Geonhak is mostly quiet as Yonghoon explains to Seoho the easiest way to brew the medicine at home, and what times of day and evening to drink it when he’s finished making the preparations. A majority of the conversation goes over Geonhak’s head because he’s trying his hardest to just not _think,_ afraid that if he questions anything further he’ll lose all sense of where he’s standing and where he’s going. It’s one thing to be told no, and it’s another to be rejected with a vehemence that is both destructive and kind, as flattering as it is devastating. 

Once they’re outside, Seoho is the first to break the silence between them. He follows Geonhak to the driver’s side of the car, preventing Geonhak from getting in. 

“Geonhak,” Seoho says. Despite how close they’re standing to each other, he’s managed to avoid touching Geonhak so Geonhak doesn’t know why he feels so cornered. 

“What?” 

“Are you going to say anything?” 

“Is that why you were being so affectionate these few days?” Geonhak asks quietly. “As a goodbye gift?” 

He supposes he should find it comforting that Seoho looks as hurt by those words as Geonhak feels by finally voicing them. Geonhak is torn between feeling stupid for not noticing the warning signs himself and feeling angry that Seoho had chosen to watch Geonhak fall in love with him, knowing their “together” was at the mercy of a ticking time bomb. The sourness of guilt and fear that would trickle into Seoho’s scent whenever Geonhak did something for him, the way he’d sometimes mumble under his breath or in his sleep that Geonhak deserved more. 

_Don’t get attached to me,_ he’d said to a Geonhak who was supposed to be asleep, because he’d known that his warning had come too late and that Geonhak was too far out on the ocean, with no way of going back to shore without drowning. 

The bob of Seoho’s Adam’s apple is pronounced as he swallows. “I didn’t know how you’d react after you found out that…” 

“You lied to me?” Geonhak says. 

“You know that’s not what it was,” Seoho says. All the playfulness has seeped out of him, understandably, and Geonhak wonders if the only reason he’d ever felt warmth from the alpha was just a side effect of the sheer scope of Seoho’s deception. As justified as it was for him to keep the truth from Geonhak, as much as Geonhak understands how terrifying it must have been for Seoho to live every day like fate had a personal vendetta against him, it doesn’t cancel out the way betrayal slices sharply at Geonhak enough times that he keeps wanting to check whether red has blossomed across his skin. 

“Am I wrong?” 

“I omitted information because I thought I would be able to handle the consequences on my own,” Seoho says. “I didn’t want to stress you out when I thought I had it under control.”

“What did you think would happen?” Geonhak asks. “That you would have your fun with me and then break my heart if things went awry?” 

“You think my heart’s not broken, too?” Seoho asks back, and frustration bubbles up in Geonhak’s chest because Seoho wasn’t left in the dark like Geonhak was. Geonhak had given everything, had worn his heart on his sleeve, and Seoho hadn’t returned even a fraction of that courtesy. “You don’t know what it’s like to be able to sense and live through every emotion someone else experiences at any given moment, and know you can’t have them in the end.” 

“Can’t have them in the end…” Geonhak frowns, when he realizes what Seoho has revealed. “You can sense my emotions?” he asks. Seoho had never explicitly mentioned being able to detect Geonhak’s mood from his scent alone, but he figures it had to have been a two way street. 

“How else do you think I showed up every time you were feeling bad?” Seoho asks, tone of voice bitter. “Even when I’m not looking at you, you’re taking up my attention against my will.” 

“And you hated that,” Geonhak says quietly. All those conversations where Seoho had fixated on lack of control and emotions being unreliable have new connotations now that Geonhak knows the extent of their connection, an unwelcome bond sinking deeper into both of them even if it was never completed. 

“No, it’s not...” Seoho says, before he makes a noise of frustration. “Did you listen to anything I said in there? I’ve seen the way true pairs can destroy people, even the most invincible of alphas. In my life, there is no such thing as a true pair when it only ends up being a burden.” 

“You never gave me a chance to show you that it could be anything else. You wrote me off as someone who would eventually destroy you, so you wanted to destroy yourself first,” Geonhak says. “Did you want to stay in control that badly?” 

“That’s not how I meant it,” Seoho says. “I wanted to protect you, and make sure we didn’t end up like my sister and her mate.” 

“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Geonhak says, “but you’re not your sister, and I’m not whoever she was in a true pair with.”

“Geonhak, I _know._ I just couldn’t take any chances,” Seoho says. 

“Were you going to continue poisoning yourself until you slowly withered away?” Geonhak asks. “Did you think so little of me that you thought the best solution was something that horrible?” 

“No,” Seoho says. “I thought too much of you, that’s why I did it.” 

“Is that the sort of thing you say to someone you want to avoid bonding with so badly that you’d rather go on a whole cocktail of drugs which potentially fuck you up for life?” 

“Let’s not talk about it here,” Seoho says. He looks like he wants to reach out for Geonhak with his free hand, but he keeps it as his side. Just another way that he’s conditioned himself into avoiding their bond and pushing Geonhak away. “I’ll explain, so…” 

“Are you going to continue to lie to me then, too?” Geonhak asks. He unlocks the car, and nudges Seoho towards the passenger’s side. The paper bags crinkle as a result of Seoho tightening his fingers around them. “You’re overestimating me if you think I can handle playing any more games with you, Seoho.” 

“I wanted a choice.” Seoho’s voice is calm. He isn’t trying to persuade Geonhak of anything, and Geonhak is not sure whether that’s comforting or a precursor to what they’re going to become to each other. Strangers who exchange words that no longer have an impact, just fade into nothing in the air between them. “I wanted at least one shot at living a life where circumstances outside of my control wouldn’t ruin my life. I wanted to give you a choice, too.” 

“I can’t do this,” Geonhak says, and Seoho’s gaze shutters. His eyes are brown now, but Geonhak can still feel the coldness of rain lingering on his own skin. 

“I won’t lie to you anymore,” Seoho says. “I’ll make it so that you understand where I was coming from, so don’t shut me out, Geonhak. Please.” 

“You shut me out first,” Geonhak says, before forcing his eyes away from Seoho. “I’ll take you home.” 

“Geonhak.” 

“At the very least, you have to give me time,” Geonhak says. Seoho has had all the time in the world to figure out what he wants from this, waters of twisted devotion running deeper than Geonhak could ever imagine while Geonhak still has to learn how to breathe with his head underwater. “Will you do that for me?” 

“Of course,” Seoho says, and across the too taut connection of their partial bond, desperate to form despite how desperate they are to break it, Geonhak pretends not to notice Seoho reigning in his emotions so that his longing can yield to Geonhak’s anger. It’s a kindness given when Geonhak is already at the end of a path he can’t turn back on, and the gesture further complicates Geonhak’s feelings towards him right now when it’s hard enough to decide how to proceed.

The drive to Seoho’s apartment is quiet although it’s far from a relaxing one. Geonhak doesn’t look at Seoho even once, and he doesn’t have to in order to know that Seoho is watching him, remaining well aware of the way Seoho continues to send him furtive glances and waits to see whether Geonhak is going to pretend he’s not there the whole time. 

Seoho can be sly if he wants to be. Geonhak supposes it shouldn’t really surprise him when he can see the way the gears inside of Seoho’s head are turning every time Seoho’s trying to come up with a new way to annoy either him or someone else, but it still strikes an odd chord in him when Seoho angles his wits to hit Geonhak where Geonhak’s heart is softest. 

After all, Geonhak is not naive. He tries to see the best in people even when they’ve shown him their worst, and he isn’t so much blind to Seoho breaking his heart as he is tolerant of the pain that comes with it. 

Geonhak makes the mistake of walking Seoho to his front door, and the tension breaks when, instead of going inside, Seoho turns around and hooks a finger in one of Geonhak’s belt loops, pulling Geonhak into him. 

“What are you—” he thinks Seoho’s going to kiss him, or something, but Seoho just straightens out Geonhak’s jacket and tugs the collar of Geonhak’s hood higher so that Geonhak doesn't catch any of the cold from the frosty morning air. 

“Don’t get sick,” Seoho says. 

“Don’t do that,” Geonhak says, and Seoho has the decency to look at least half sheepish. “You’re doing it on purpose.” 

Seoho stares at him, eyes going dark. “I am,” he says. “Does knowing that change the effect it has on you?” 

_No,_ Geonhak thinks, and he doesn’t have to say it out loud for both of them to realize that. Geonhak is angry that he feels like there’s always going to be a part of him that wants to be conquered by Seoho, wants Seoho to own him even if this won’t work out in the end. Seoho has remained detached for reasons that have just been revealed to Geonhak, but he’s left much deeper, much more permanent of an impression on Geonhak than just a few kisses and honey like words in the moments where he makes Geonhak surrender to him in nearly every way except the one that matters most. 

“You said you wanted to give me a choice,” Geonhak says. 

Seoho nods, listening. 

“I chose you,” Geonhak says. His voice breaks, finally matching how the rest of him feels: shattered, disintegrated, crushed into fine dust. Unwanted, in the end. “I chose you from the beginning, even before I knew what you smelled like or what your status was or what you could offer me. I chose you then, all in between, and I’m choosing you now, too, but you’re the one who’s not letting me.” 

“Geonhak.”

Geonhak laughs, and it sounds as fragile as glass to even his own ears. “Choice? You made a decision for both of us before I even knew what was going on, by putting yourself and your health in danger for so long to avoid having me figure out what we were to each other. Is that called giving me a choice?” 

“I did what I thought was best for the both of us. Forgive me,” Seoho says. His fingers curl and tighten into fists in the material of Geonhak’s jacket, and Geonhak closes his eyes as he wonders how they ended up here. 

◐ ◐ ◐

Dance practice ends earlier than usual, because they manage to get everyone to memorize the choreography faster than what they had predicted. Dongju wants to get an early dinner with Geonhak, but he has paperwork that needs to get approved and signed by their teacher so he’s gone to her office while Geonhak waits for him in the practice room and scrolls through his phone. He’s sitting with his back pressed up against the wall of mirrors, classmates packing up their belongings and heading to the locker rooms to get changed after splitting into their usual groups. 

Hwanwoong usually takes off as soon as dance practice officially ends, either to go see Youngjo or to other club commitments he’s made, but today he approaches Geonhay. 

“Can I have some of your time?” Hwanwoong asks, gently. His voice always sounds sweet, and he’s shorter than average for an alpha, though his energy compensates enough for it that most people barely notice his height until they’re standing next to him. Geonhak remembers their classmates being surprised to find out that Hwanwoong was an alpha, but Geonhak is friends with Dongju, so he’s never that surprised to meet alphas who don’t look anything like it. 

“Yes,” Geonhak says. “What did you…” 

“Do you want some chocolate?” 

Geonhak shakes his head with a _no thank you_ , and Hwanwoong shrugs, unwrapping the mini chocolate bar he’d apparently brought as a peace offering for Geonhak. 

“You and Seoho are fighting, right?” Hwanwoong asks, plopping down next to Geonhak on the floor after he disposes of the wrapper in a nearby trash can and eats the chocolate in one bite, and Geonhak blinks at him. “Because he didn’t tell you that he and you made up a true pair.” 

“I don’t know if you’d call it a fight,” Geonhak says. Seoho has made a series of irreversible choices with consequences that will follow him for a long time if not his whole life, and those consequences would have been completely unavoidable if he’d had a higher opinion of Geonhak. “And I wouldn’t have cared if he’d wanted to keep it to himself because he’s private. It’s the methods he used to keep me from finding out.” 

“I was against it, too.” Hwanwoong’s smile is wry. “The way he makes decisions is always kind of soulless, even if I’ve been friends with him for a long time. But that’s not how he is on the inside.” 

Geonhak chews on his lower lip. “What are you trying to tell me?” 

“I’m not sure, actually,” Hwanwoong says, and Geonhak laughs. “I don’t know very much about Seoho’s family’s history with true pairs, only that it messed up his sister bad enough to scare him off from relationships for life.” 

“A partially broken true pair,” Geonhak says. “He told me that the doctors couldn’t help them without potentially killing one of them.” 

“A bond between an alpha and omega is already pretty intense,” Hwanwoong says. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to try to break a bond with two alphas involved, so I could understand his paranoia. Why it made him so secretive, and why it drove him to make decisions by himself.” 

Geonhak brings his knees up to his chest. “I keep thinking about how if it was anyone else, maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he had to suffer on his own.” 

“He hasn’t told you anything important, has he?” Hwanwoong laughs, and Geonhak blinks at him in confusion. “When I found out that you were his mate, I was relieved.” 

“...He told you?” 

Hwanwoong wiggles his eyebrows. “I forced the information out of him. Not that it was really hard to tell, when he went off his suppressants and I picked up hints of you in his scent.” 

Geonhak flushes, making Hwanwoong laugh. “Why were you relieved?” 

“You’re the type of alpha everyone wants to bring home to their parents, if they _want_ an alpha. I don’t,” Hwanwoong says, with a grin at the obvious reference to Youngjo. “I knew you wouldn’t push him past his limits, just nudge him until he was ready, and you wouldn’t make his trust issues any worse than they already were.” 

“You’re exaggerating,” Geonhak says. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Hmmm,” Hwanwoong says. “It’s okay to have opinions that are wrong, Geonhak.” He laughs at Geonhak’s cherry red ears. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t tease you anymore.” 

“You don’t sound sorry at all,” Geonhak says, covering his ears, and Hwanwoong grins at him. 

“Despite everything he’s done or anything he might say to you, Seoho liked you from the very beginning. He doesn’t have to admit it out loud for me to be able to tell,” Hwanwoong says. “Have you figured out what his passcode is yet?” 

“Passcode?” 

“His phone passcode is your birthday,” Hwanwoong says. “0-7-2-6. It’s probably in some of his other passcodes, too, I just haven’t had the time to try them out yet.” 

Geonhak’s eyes widen as he recalls the combination to Seoho’s locker. 62-7-0. His birthday, but backwards. He’d never realized until now, why the string of numbers puzzled him because he’d been too preoccupied with other things at the time. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Hwanwoong says. “He always talks about how it’s just the wolf that’s influencing him, but he would have been drawn to you either way. You made him better. More open.” 

“I don’t know,” Geonhak says, staring at the floor in front of his feet. He doesn’t know what else Seoho is going to continue to hide from him even if they make this bond work. “It didn’t feel that way, when I realized…” 

“He hides things because he thinks they’re better off locked up inside of him for the long run,” Hwanwoong says. “He’s protective, even if it comes out twisted. He can be an asshole, I’m sure, but he’s also the kind of guy who tries to stop his mom from reading the news so that she can sleep easier at night. The kind of guy who watches scary videos for his friends so he can tell them whether they can handle it or not, or which parts to skip.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Geonhak says. 

_Don’t look. You’re squeamish,_ Seoho had said right before giving himself that shot, because he didn’t want Geonhak to be uncomfortable even when he was in an agonizing amount of pain himself, and that makes Geonhak...

“He’s an idiot for lying to you, but he definitely wants to be your idiot, in case you were having any doubts about that,” Hwanwoong says, and Geonhak is stuck between laughing or crying. “Will you take it easy on him?” 

“I’ll think about it,” Geonhak says, and the smile Hwanwoong directs at him is grateful, but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the ache that Geonhak feels whenever he’s reminded of Seoho and all the losses Seoho had taken in order to protect him. 

◓ ◓ ◓

Two days later, Geonhak wakes up to a fire that feels like it’s going to devour him from the inside out. 

He grabs his phone frantically to check the date, and sighs before tossing it back somewhere next to his pillow, far enough that it won’t bounce back and hit him. Flames crawl in every direction all over his skin, and Geonhak’s body whirs with unreleased energy even as his mind tries to eject itself from processing every uncomfortable, much too intense sensation. 

He’s in rut. 

With the way things have progressed the last few days, including dance practices that are beginning to stretch longer just like the silence he’s not sure how to break between him and Seoho, it’s natural that he’d forgotten to prepare. 

Not that Geonhak usually prepares much, but he at least has a routine of packing a few more bags of ice in the freezer if he has the space for it, because his reusable ice packs melt down too fast against his hot skin, dripping all over him and the sheets within minutes and taking significantly longer to get solid again. 

This time around, the discomfort and restlessness is worse than anything else Geonhak has ever experienced, and it doesn’t help that hints of Seoho’s scent still lingers in his apartment. 

There are still clothes in various parts of Geonhak’s apartment belonging to Seoho that Geonhak hasn’t returned, and at this point, it seems weird to consider things like that when they’re in a weird state of caring too little or caring too much about each other. It’s not like they’ve broken up, when they weren’t really _anything_ to begin with, and remembering that makes Geonhak feel like his insides are being filled with blocks of ice, but not the kind that will bring him any relief because it’s all wrong, all bad compared to what his body is really searching for. 

Geonhak supposes he should be grateful that alphas only go through ruts a few times throughout the year when omegas have to deal with heats every month, but he can already feel his eyes struggling to focus and grab onto clarity even before he’s fully sat up. In his sleep, he’d pushed the blankets off of himself, probably his body’s last ditch effort to avoid soaking his clothes with sweat. He’s not sure whether he has the strength to even walk to the bathroom and stand in the shower while he turns the knob to the coldest temperature possible, because it feels like his legs might give out on him if he tries to stand up at all. The thought of attempting to drown himself in ice cold water is an unbelievably nice one, but the logistics of getting there are much less pleasant, so Geonhak holds off on the idea for now. 

At the end of the bed is a white t-shirt that Geonhak knows instantly isn’t his, judging by the stark, blue-ish tone of the fabric and the staggering scent of sweet smoke infused throughout the threads of it, and he bites his lip at the opportunity that’s presented itself. His cock is already semi hard in his sleep shorts even if his intentions haven’t quite caught up yet, and Geonhak gathers enough resolve to ignore every spot that’s aching and excessively tender in his limbs before he leans over and grabs the article of clothing. 

He laughs in half pain and half amusement when he uncrumples it and realizes the front of the shirt has a logo of a cat across it, with closed eyes shaped like moon crescents, a sharp nose, and a feline mouth with sharp teeth, all of which resemble Seoho’s facial features perfectly. Like Geonhak needed a reminder of what he wants when there’s no way he’s going to get it, when he’s being driven to seek out all the alternatives that’ll possibly tide him over until his misery finally ends. 

Geonhak curls up against his blankets where they’ve been shoved and piled up against the wall, almost sobbing when he presses his nose in the starchy, stiff material of Seoho’s t-shirt and a whole body shudder is wrenched from him. He wants Seoho so much, so _badly_ that he’d probably do anything for it. The only reason he doesn’t call Seoho right then is because he knows he’d have to wait, and the itch crawling all over him is demanding to be dealt with right now, making Geonhak’s eyelashes flutter as he tries his best to pretend that Seoho is here with him. 

Too overwhelmed to think about anything else, Geonhak slips his free hand underneath his waistband and winces when he realizes how soaked he’s gotten from thinking about Seoho alone. There is no dry tug, no slow ease in, and the ring of fingers he forms around himself provides almost too little friction because everything is so wet and the slide is too effortless. Even when he tightens his grip, adjusting the pace to see if his peak will build up quicker in the pit of his stomach and the inside of his thighs and hurl him over the edge, he realizes that it’s not _enough_. 

Seoho’s name repeatedly tumbles out of his mouth, enough times that the syllables start to sound foreign on Geonhak’s tongue even if his memories of Seoho’s fingers aren’t foreign at all, and it’s mixed with other noises of desperation that are embarrassing to hear coming from himself even in Geonhak’s hazy state. Geonhak’s mind keeps dipping in and out of association with his body as he pushes his face deeper into the material of Seoho’s t-shirt and strokes himself harder, glad that he’d never ended up putting it in the wash because it mean Seoho’s scent will remain in it long enough for Geonhak to pretend that Seoho’s still here in some capacity. 

Stripped down to nothing but a craving that seems insatiable, Geonhak lets a tear escape from the corner of his eye, his vision flickering hotly between black and white as he vaguely registers that his orgasm is approaching soon. He’s desperate not to lose it, and when he recalls the way Seoho’s body had accepted him into its tantalizing heat, opening up just for Geonhak to take, that very image is what finally makes Geonhak spill into his hand and all over his stomach. 

_Here’s your chance to get me out of your system,_ Seoho had said to Geonhak that day while his bloodlust steadily faded into just pure lust, and with come cooling on his skin and a burn that feels unbelievably empty in his chest, Geonhak is left to wonder why Seoho had thought it was possible Geonhak would _ever_ get Seoho out of his system. 

◓ ◓ ◓

Geonhak is in one of the calmer phases of his rut. Everything is still uncomfortable, but at least he doesn’t want to tear himself apart anymore, and he knows he’ll be able to stand and walk for a few seconds if he wants to go and take that icy shower he’s been so looking forward to. 

When there’s a knock on his front door instead of a ring from the doorbell, Geonhak already feels an odd tug at his chest because it’s rare that he gets people who knock. Not to mention, he knows only one person who knocks like that, and the whiff of smoke he catches before he opens his door is enough confirmation for him to hesitate. 

For a moment, he considers not opening it. Even if Seoho knows Geonhak is inside, he should also realize there’s a possibility that Geonhak isn’t ready to see him. Geonhak isn’t sure when he’s ever going to be ready to see that face again, either, not when he knows he’s going to catalogue every little shift and twist in Seoho’s facial expressions to try and understand him despite how futile his efforts would be. Seoho has established from the beginning that he doesn’t want to be understood by Geonhak, and that knowledge hurts Geonhak significantly more than he wants it to be able to. 

Then there’s a soft, gentle trickling of _pleading._ It’s not a positive emotion, necessarily, because it’s just as sad as it is loving, but it still permeates the air with a sweetness that Geonhak has never detected coming from Seoho, and that syrupy anguish seems to seep into the floors of Geonhak’s apartment through the cracks between the door and the doorframe. 

It’s unfair that Geonhak has to be so in tune with Seoho’s emotions when he doesn’t want to be. He would have welcomed it any other time, when he’s not feverish and weak and still trying to pick up the pieces of himself from the floor, but Seoho’s desperation is so overwhelming that Geonhak absorbs it as his own, and then he remembers that this brief moment of excruciating displacement of their emotions in each other’s is what Seoho has been enduring by himself for months. 

It must have been lonely. It must have been painful in so many ways that Seoho couldn’t voice, not to anyone, not even to Geonhak, and it makes Geonhak feel like nothing and everything all at once. 

He wants to be cruel. That way, he’d feel better about the desire to take revenge on Seoho, to wreck Seoho so that he’s all Seoho can ever see and think about whenever he closes his eyes at night, but if Geonhak’s learned anything in the last week, it’s that Seoho isn’t very far off from living like that. 

Seoho looks tired, when Geonhak finally pulls the door open. He’s dressed casually in all black: an oversized hoodie that belongs to Geonhak, sweats, and a baseball cap so dark that the fabric blends in with his hair. Seeing Seoho in something that belongs to Geonhak makes Geonhak feel like Seoho is a little bit his, too. 

It’d be easier to blame the rut for making Geonhak pull Seoho in and not care if anyone passing by sees them kissing. Geonhak is restless, fidgety, and he wants to be weighed down even if it’s just the anchor of familiarity that comes with Seoho’s mouth meeting his, so he cups both sides of Seoho’s face, tossing Seoho’s cap somewhere to the side and waiting for Seoho to part his lips so that he can kiss Seoho deeper. The truth is, despite everything he’s learned and still finds difficult to understand, Geonhak can’t help that he’s missed Seoho these last few days. Does it really matter, whether he’s in love with Seoho because he’s chosen it or he’s been influenced by the bond they’ve never completed when the longing is the same, in the end? 

Even then, Geonhak is the one to pull away when he remembers their last conversation. To compensate for lost distance, Seoho steps closer, and Geonhak puts his hands on Seoho’s chest as a preventative measure for both of them. 

“How did you…?” Geonhak squeezes his eyes shut. He’s in rut, but his mind’s still clear enough to remember that he hadn’t told Seoho any specifics that would have allowed Seoho to know when his rut is supposed to start. He wants to step back to avoid letting Seoho pick up on the obvious spike in pheromones that’s probably drenching the atmosphere of the entire apartment, but there really is no point. They’re balled up into each other, yarn that only tangles worse within itself if they try to unravel it, and Geonhak wonders if he’s ever going to be able to take back all the fragments of his soul and body he’s left in Seoho. “Why did you come here?” 

“Your cousin gave me a heads up that your rut would be starting soon,” Seoho replies gently, and Geonhak makes an unhappy growl. 

“He meddles too much.” 

“He wants the best for you,” Seoho says, reaching out for Geonhak, resting his hands on Geonhak’s waist. 

“You sound real buddy buddy with him,” Geonhak says, and Seoho doesn’t flinch, just lets Geonhak lash out at him. “Is it because he gave you another opportunity to hurt me?” 

“Hurt you…” Seoho’s eyes flash silver. He’s angry, upset, and Geonhak has never wanted to hurt anyone the way he wants to hurt Seoho, but he’s surprised that it doesn’t make him feel any better to see the sight of Seoho having that explosive, negative reaction to something Geonhak has said. In the end, Geonhak is a puppy who’s going to continuously trip all over his own feet just to make Seoho take another glance at him. He doesn’t know why he’d hoped for anything more significant or meaningful than that. “I never wanted to hurt you. You’re the last person I want to hurt, Geonhak.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way,” Geonhak says, and Seoho lets go of him. “If you didn’t want to hurt me you wouldn’t have gone to such extreme lengths to—” 

“Are you going to let me in?” Seoho asks, voice quiet. He’s always quiet, honestly, even when he’s being obnoxious, but Geonhak is rarely this emotionally volatile and that’s probably the biggest difference in this conversation compared to all their other ones that makes the contrast of their voices feel so stark in both tone and volume. 

“No,” Geonhak says. In protest, the wolf inside of him whines sadly for Seoho to come _closer_. He’s not ready, because his body and heart and mind are all at war, and the words aren’t coming out right. 

Withholding forgiveness is something Geonhak has never found difficult even if he always moves on from the hurt inflicted by people who never knew what was best for him, but he’s starting to realize why Seoho is terrified of the bond between them, starting to get a glimpse of how much power it holds over them even when it’s only partially formed. There is no universe in which Geonhak wouldn’t grant Seoho absolution, and he wonders if the wolves who dream of destined pairs know that the consequences of falling in love this way are much more catastrophic. 

Seoho steps inside, and Geonhak lets him. “Geonhak.” 

“You should go home,” Geonhak says. 

“You felt miserable before,” Seoho says. He doesn’t even have to rely on the way Geonhak smells to know what he’s thinking because their emotions are bleeding into each other, stronger than ever. “Now you feel calmer. Better. I don’t think I should leave you.” 

“Is that your sense of duty kicking in?” Geonhak asks, as Seoho closes the door behind him. “Are you going to lick my wounds because you know I’m going to bleed to death otherwise?” 

“Don’t be like that,” Seoho says. 

Geonhak is terrified. It's always intrigued him, the concept of being able to understand someone beyond what they were saying and showing on the surface, but the reality is that too much of a connection is draining, especially if you’re being flooded with the emotions of another soul in addition to your own and neither of you are ready for the confrontation. 

“I’m realizing, now,” Geonhak says, as he lets Seoho crowd him up against the wall, “that you hold so much power over me, and I can’t win against you. I can’t...” 

“That’s not true, Geonhak,” Seoho says. He murmurs the words into the soft, delicate skin between Geonhak’s neck and his ear, and Geonhak’s thoughts go cloudy. “You just haven’t had to fight it for as long as I have.” 

Seoho’s hands provide respite from the swamp of heat that threatens to pull Geonhak underneath its surface, but it’s merely a mirage in the desert. There is no water here, no real relief, just a drought that returns even hotter and dryer in Geonhak’s throat as soon as Seoho lets up on the touches he graces Geonhak with, and every new slide of his hot palms against Geonhak’s bare skin leaves Geonhak craving closer, hotter, longer contact so viciously that he thinks he could lose his mind from wanting it so bad. 

He could perish just like this, dry out to nothing in the light of desire that finds him no matter which corner of the dark he tries to withdraw into. 

It’s not long before Geonhak is shifting, the wolf in him freed from the restrictions of its cage in the presence of its silver eyed mate. Geonhak is vaguely aware of his reservations falling to pieces around him as Seoho strips him out of his shirt, making sure not to let Geonhak’s claws snag on the thin, smooth material before he takes off his hoodie (Geonhak’s hoodie) and shirt in solidarity and matches the line of his body back up with Geonhak’s so that they’re skin to skin. 

“I’ve got you,” Seoho says, when Geonhak paws at him for more and whines like he’s in pain. “Don’t panic.” 

“This isn’t even what you want,” Geonhak says, frustrated at how needy, how helpless he feels and sounds. He likes Seoho so much, likes the comforting coolness of Seoho’s hands stroking down his arms and up the sides of his torso, but Seoho doesn’t like him the same way. Geonhak wants to be kept, while Seoho had put his own health at risk for months, if not years, to avoid just that. 

“Yes it is,” Seoho says, and he sighs. “There’s a reason I was so against the true pair bond. You haven’t even experienced it at its strongest.” 

“Is it going to get even more intense than this?” Geonhak asks. “It honestly feels like I’m going to die.” He laughs, brokenly, and Seoho caresses his cheek to soothe him. 

“You won’t,” Seoho says. Then he chuckles. “At least, not right away.” 

“Ah, so reassuring,” Geonhak mumbles, and Seoho snorts. 

“It’s not the sort of thing that can be described until you’re fully submerged,” Seoho says quietly. “The bond sucks you in, chews you up, and then spits you back out as an entirely different person, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

“How did we avoid biting each other the first time, then?” Geonhak asks. “I still don’t understand.” 

“Luck,” Seoho says. “Intention. Devotion. One or all of those things. I was playing with fire, honestly, by trying to overcome it on my own.” 

“I guess you’ve finally gained some common sense,” Geonhak says, and Seoho scowls at him. 

“Every decision I made was with you in mind even if I didn’t tell you what was happening,” Seoho says. “So don’t give me that attitude.” 

“You kept me in the dark,” Geonhak says.

“I know, and I’m trying to make up for it by taking care of you right now,” Seoho says. 

“What if I don’t want to be taken care of by you?” Geonhak asks. The words don’t sound convincing to either of them, he’s sure, but he likes to think the possibility still exists. 

Seoho’s eyes darken, and he palms at the front of Geonhak’s cotton, sleep shorts which do all the work in conveying how much Geonhak’s body doesn’t agree with his mouth. Geonhak gasps, and Seoho takes the opportunity to kiss him obscenely, leaving the inside of Geonhak’s mouth slick with saliva that doesn’t belong to him and the corners of his lips glossy. “You don’t mean that.”

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that given the opportunity, Seoho is ruthless and even a little cold blooded when he’s the one taking control, but Geonhak’s eyebrows still raise at the way Seoho’s voice goes slightly mean and at the way Seoho slots his knee in between Geonhak’s legs so that Geonhak has to stay standing. 

“Do you? Mean it?” Seoho asks, demanding a concrete answer, and when Geonhak shakes his head, Seoho rewards him with a charitable nibble on Geonhak’s lower lip. 

Considering how Seoho treats everything else in his life, from the self indulgent pleasures to the problems he bulldozes through without much consideration for the potential of failure, Geonhak should be more surprised that Seoho has let him take control as many times as he has when it comes to how they fuck. Geonhak doesn’t know what that says about their relationship, about what they mean to each other, and it seems like something he’ll be more interested in thinking about after Seoho gets him through his rut. 

“You’re being...” Geonhak says, and Seoho hums before lifting his head from where he’s sucking aggressive marks into Geonhak’s neck. “Is it the bond?” 

“In some ways, yes,” Seoho says. “In other ways, it’s just me. Does it scare you?” 

“No,” Geonhak says. “It... makes me think that you want me just as much as I want you, and that’s not something I want to get used to fooling myself with again.” 

“Geonhak,” Seoho says. 

“I don’t want to wake up to you being gone,” Geonhak says, blinking and then keeping his eyes closed because he’s afraid to see Seoho’s reaction. “I keep dreaming about you when I fall asleep at night, and I’d rather never sleep at all if I’m going to be continually reminded that I don’t get to call you mine.” 

“I’m yours,” Seoho says. “If it’s still not clear to you when your fever breaks, I’ll tell you again. As many times as you want me to. Okay?” 

“You have to be honest with me,” Geonhak says. “You can’t hide the important things anymore.” 

“Sorry,” Seoho says. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I ended up hurting you when you’re the last person in the world who deserves it.” 

“You hurt yourself, too,” Geonhak says. “That’s what upset me the most.”

“I won’t do it anymore,” Seoho says. 

“Good,” Geonhak says. “Will you really stay?” 

“Yes.” 

“How long?” Geonhak asks. A few hours? A few days? Geonhak wants forever, but he knows it’s greedy and unrealistic and—

“For as long as you’ll let me, for however long you want,” Seoho says, smoothing a hand across Geonhak’s sweat-slicked bangs to expose his forehead and kiss the damp skin, and Geonhak gathers the courage to believe him. 

“Your sheets still smell like me,” Seoho remarks, when they’ve made their way into Geonhak’s bed. “Is that why you’re so riled up?” 

He’s pulled Geonhak into his lap so that Geonhak’s back is flush against his chest. The waistbands of Geonhak’s sleep shorts and underwear have been pulled halfway down his thighs and Seoho is touching him, noncommittal ring of fingers fitting loosely around Geonhak’s cock and stroking him while his other hand wraps around Geonhak’s waist. It’s affectionate, but it’s also his way of holding Geonhak down in case Geonhak tries to thrust up into his hand. 

Every time Geonhak edges a little too close to completion, Seoho slows his pace before he stops entirely and drops his fingers to the base of Geonhak’s cock, squeezing, redirecting his attention to leave dotted kisses on the back of Geonhak’s neck. He pretends to be oblivious to the way Geonhak twitches against him, claws fisting the sheets and tearing them in his desperation to get off. 

“Seoho.” Geonhak’s breaths are sharp and harsh, and Seoho lets his teeth drag across Geonhak’s skin, knocking into the bone that makes up the top of Geonhak’s spine while he does so. “ _Seoho_ —” 

“What’s wrong?” Seoho says. “Aren’t you the one who loves being patient with me?” He laughs against the outer edge of Geonhak’s ear, breath blowing on a sensitive part of Geonhak’s skin, and it’s clear that this is revenge for what Geonhak usually puts him through. 

“You’re…” Geonhak feels tension zip through his entire body when Seoho allows one long, leisurely stroke before squeezing him at his base again, and Geonhak whines, exhale of relief cut off just as he thinks he’s being shown mercy. “I take my time because I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Poor Geonhakie~” Seoho says, and Geonhak shudders at the unexpected nickname of endearment. He’s biting his lips hard enough that they’re bleeding, and he can smell the iron in his mouth. Seoho has to smell it too, because Geonhak can feel Seoho twisting his head to look at the wreckage, the broken skin. “Are you upset with me?”

Geonhak’s eyelids flutter, indecisive between opening or closing. “Please.” 

“Please what?” 

There’s only Seoho no matter where Geonhak tries to flee. Seoho’s back closing in on him even though his frame is a little narrower than Geonhak’s and not as broad. Seoho’s hand flattening with authority on Geonhak’s hip in a chiding manner, short, clawless fingertips making pebbled imprints in the thickness of muscle. Seoho’s other hand on Geonhak’s cock, making sure climax dangles millimeters away from Geonhak while never letting him have it for real. 

Geonhak sucks in a long, shallow breath. “Seoho—” 

“Fine, fine, I’ve bullied you for long enough,” Seoho says. He lifts his hand to nudge Geonhak’s face towards him so he can kiss Geonhak, licking up saliva and blood as he slots their mouths together and lets Geonhak thrust up into his other hand until Geonhak’s hips stutter to a halt and he comes all over his stomach and chest. Catching the moan that spills over from between Geonhak’s lips to his, Seoho swipes his thumb across the slit of Geonhak’s cock and lets Geonhak’s residual release dribble down onto his hand until Geonhak finishes riding out the rest of his orgasm. 

He wipes his hand clean on Geonhak’s thigh, leaving sugary sweet kisses across Geonhak’s cheek even when he’s being his usual brand of obnoxious, and Geonhak is too lethargic to gather the energy to fight him. 

When Geonhak eventually asks Seoho to fuck him, Seoho looks mildly surprised. “Really?” 

“Mmm,” Geonhak says. He stares at Seoho through half lidded eyes, but they widen when Seoho licks his lips. It means Seoho has decided he likes Geonhak’s request. “Want you to hold me.” 

“Okay,” Seoho says easily, and then he’s gone for a moment, returning as quickly as he left to flip Geonhak over onto his back and press Geonhak into the sheets before Geonhak, in the daze of his body’s heat, hears the telling _click_ of Seoho opening the lube. 

Seoho is not all that patient but he’s still considerate, and it makes sense. Between the two of them, he’s the one who prioritizes efficiency, the one who would rather travel in a direct line to what he wants in the shortest amount of time possible, while Geonhak tends to bite down on his eagerness and treat every step forward as a way of seeing something new rather than worrying about how fast he reaches his intended destination. That must be why Seoho’s bites feel like punishments and Geonhak’s are meant to be more like gifts, but their exchange works because Geonhak likes the pain that comes with Seoho’s possessiveness and Seoho likes being coddled even if he wrinkles his nose whenever Geonhak says something bordering on being sickly sweet. 

Seoho is careful when he stretches Geonhak out, scissoring his fingers beyond the ring of muscle with the sort of impatient diligence that Geonhak finds so distinctly characteristic of Seoho’s personality. Like he couldn’t care less whether Geonhak’s in pain or not, but somehow manages to make the experience as comfortable as it can be. 

“Did you play with yourself?” he asks casually, like he’s asking about the circulation in Geonhak’s apartment or the lightbulb that needs changing in the hallway outside his front door, and Geonhak squirms, embarrassed that Seoho can tell. “Before I came over.” 

“A little,” Geonhak replies. 

“Hmmm,” Seoho says as he adds a third finger abruptly, and Geonhak sucks in a breath. His insides are slick enough with lube that it doesn’t hurt even if Seoho had purposefully avoided warning him. “Don’t know if I like that.” 

The words make Geonhak’s already flushed ears redden even more, and with a laugh, Seoho kisses Geonhak’s knee, gliding his free hand up and down the side of Geonhak’s thigh affectionately. 

(Geonhak considers telling Seoho that even if he’d been touching himself, he’d been thinking about Seoho the whole time and pretending it was Seoho’s hands on him.)

The tension melts out of Geonhak’s entire body when Seoho slides into him. A new sort of relief floods through Geonhak at how good it feels to be filled up by Seoho like this, and Geonhak is the one to drop his head back this time and expose his neck to Seoho, who kisses and nips at the tender skin hard enough to create a feedback loop that travels right back to the pit of Geonhak’s stomach and the base of his cock. 

“Is it okay?” Seoho asks, holding off from moving just yet. 

“So full,” Geonhak mumbles, the rut leaving him with even less of a brain to mouth filter. Seoho fits perfectly inside of him, and he tells Seoho as much, drawing a laugh of disbelief from Seoho the same time something shy and soft percolates into Geonhak’s general contentedness that he knows doesn’t belong to him, which is proof that Seoho’s flustered. It’s odd that something like this would embarrass Seoho when he’d had plenty of fun torturing Geonhak earlier, but Seoho has always been perplexing as a person, and it’s most likely the fact that he’s not used to handling compliments when they don’t have an overtone of sarcasm to them. 

“Bad full or good full?” Seoho asks. 

“Good,” Geonhak mumbles, sighing wistfully when Seoho shifts and pushes in deeper.

The rut leaves Geonhak’s perception of everything hazy after that. He remembers Seoho asking frequently how he’s feeling, meticulous in making sure the only thing Geonhak is feeling is pleasure. It’s not really necessary for him to ask, although Geonhak appreciates the sentiment and very much likes the concern laced throughout Seoho’s words as the alpha hovers over Geonhak to keep his attention. 

At such close proximity, their incomplete bond thrums to life and leaves them hypersensitive and overly aware of every emotion passing through each other. Instead of pleasure separated by what’s given and what’s taken, their gratification builds off of each other over and over again, tumbling in forceful waves that wash Geonhak ashore for only a moment before he’s pulled back into the sea, down to the deepest part of the ocean. Geonhak starts to lose track of what senses are his own and which ones are reverberating off of Seoho’s, just feels his body getting taken apart before all of its pieces collide back into each other with renewed strength and intensity. 

This rut is particularly awful, with an itch that Geonhak doesn't think is alleviated even after Seoho fucks him multiple times, leaves the insides of Geonhak’s thighs warm and sticky and Geonhak’s stomach splattered in pearly white. Limitless in all the wrong ways, because the buzz of anticipation grows ever more demanding despite Geonhak’s efforts to find some sort of reprieve. None of his previous ruts have been as big of a headache to deal with as this one, but this time around he has Seoho as both a companion and an added factor to the elevated symptoms of his body feeling like it’s burning up, and he figures it’s the bond trying to form itself as close as it can get to a full one. 

“I don’t remember it being this intense with your rut,” Geonhak says at some point. He reaches his hands out, claws still extended, and reassuring fingers intertwine with his. 

Seoho stares at Geonhak for a half beat too long, and Geonhak feels like he’s getting picked apart underneath the gaze of those periwinkle silver irises. 

“We know each other better now,” Seoho then murmurs into his ear, and Geonhak wonders idly, if it’s possible for him to melt down to liquid hazel and never solidify again. “We’ll get used to it. The first ruts are the most unpredictable.” 

_We’ll get used to it._ The implication that Seoho will stick around long enough for future ruts shouldn’t make Geonhak as happy as it does, and he forgets to dampen the rush of delight because Seoho’s going to feel it too, but Seoho just smiles at him. 

And for a brief moment, Geonhak forgets how uncomfortable he feels in the wake of Seoho’s amusement spilling back into him, the melody of Seoho’s soft laughter sweet and alluring enough to set Geonhak free. 

◑ ◑ ◑

This dream, Geonhak thinks, is particularly vivid. 

Geonhak is on top of Seoho, kissing down the curve of Seoho’s spine. Everything is hot and liquid and floaty, and it seems to make time run from Geonhak as he traces the dips and peaks of Seoho’s body with his mouth, leaving his mark in every possible square inch of skin he can reach. Seoho is shaking, holding himself up by the elbows with dwindling reserves of serenity, knees spread to a distance that prevents him from lying totally flat on his stomach but close enough to make the easy route of friction against sheets a constant temptation. 

Seoho is known for being clever, for being intelligent, for being good at the most obscure and confusing of games even though it’s always other people volunteering him to compete in silly little challenges and him being good natured about it in proving them right. However, in a game of resilience and desire against Geonhak, Seoho is equally apt to lose as he is to win, although this round is a battle in which he’s undoubtedly going to surrender to Geonhak.

Seoho behaves for Geonhak, doesn’t let his legs threaten to give out until Geonhak fucks him with only Geonhak’s spit from an earlier rim job and Seoho’s own pre-come to ease the slide. Even then, there’s hardly any resistance, just enough drag to leave both of them high strung and desperate for a repeat of every brush of their bodies making them set each other alight. Seoho’s legs do eventually give out, thighs still trembling as he goes down, his cock getting trapped between his stomach and the sheets of Geonhak’s duvet. 

The material is soft; Geonhak had picked it for that very reason because he likes to sleep with as little clothes on as possible and rougher fabrics make it difficult for him to get comfortable. In that regard, the material’s done wonders for him, but right now, it must be working against Seoho who has vastly different needs to be met. The cloth is a weightless, airy smooth glide that does practically nothing if Seoho’s searching for an orgasm prompted by prolonged direct stimulation, and in a helpless state like his, he’ll be left with no choice but to rely on Geonhak to break him down from the inside out. 

Instead of punishing Seoho for not being able to keep his hips up, Geonhak just adjusts and presses closer, preferring to lean in and keep his face close to Seoho’s so that he can pay attention to all the expressions from Seoho he would miss otherwise. Their faces being right next to each other makes it natural for Geonhak to leave kisses on Seoho’s temples, on Seoho’s ear, along the side of Seoho’s neck to the nape of it, and then... 

There’s something pulling at the back of his mind that says _this is probably not a good idea,_ but it’s not real, after all, and Seoho is pliant underneath Geonhak’s hands. He’d held Geonhak, and let Geonhak hold him in all the ways Geonhak could have wished for, coaxing confidence out of Geonhak where there’d been doubt and confusion before. 

So Geonhak loses all his inhibitions and gives in to pure instinct, letting his teeth plunge into skin at the bull’s eye mark of his tunnel vision and claiming the nape of Seoho’s neck for himself. Seoho makes a stifled groan at the puncturing of skin, but he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t say anything, merely digs his fingertips into the palm of Geonhak’s hand as Geonhak’s mouth fills with the scent and taste of iron because of the blood he’s drawn. 

“Mine,” Geonhak murmurs. The word comes out clear as glass, none of the usual slurred edges that come with trying to talk out loud, and the last thing Geonhak remembers thinking before his vision goes black is that he doesn’t usually speak in his dreams. 

◒ ◒ ◒ 

Geonhak wakes up feeling hot. 

He groans at first, thinking it’s because the rut hasn’t broken yet, but then he realizes his mind is clear and the millions of needles of heat crawling underneath his skin have disappeared. 

The real reason he’s feeling hot is because his limbs are entangled with Seoho’s, their legs bare, knees bumping into each other. Geonhak is only wearing a pair of briefs, but Seoho is wearing a dark navy t-shirt and black briefs, and the colors are striking when contrasted with his pale thighs. Seoho stirs awake, disturbed by Geonhak moving around, and then he’s rolling over, pulling himself free from Geonhak’s embrace as he gets on his elbows and knees to push himself into a sitting position. 

When he does it, Geonhak catches a glimpse of the back of Seoho’s neck. 

“Seoho.” 

Seoho looks at him with one eye closed, running a hand through his hair. “What?” 

Geonhak pulls Seoho towards him by the shoulder, turning Seoho’s head the other way to double check what he’d seen in that blur of movement as Seoho was situating himself and gasping when he realizes his eyes haven’t tricked him. 

The undeniable mark of a claiming bite, in the same orientation that Geonhak had angled it in the dream that had ended up being no dream at all. 

“Why did you…” Geonhak says. He lets his fingers skate around the perimeter of the teeth marks, noting that the dried blood makes it look a lot worse than it’ll look after they clean it. The indents will scar over that way, though, and Geonhak doesn’t know how he feels about leaving a permanent mark like this when he knows Seoho has worked so hard to avoid it. “Why did you let me?” 

“I told you I would stay,” Seoho says. “The bite was just a formality. We were already bonded in every other aspect.”

“You didn’t bite me back,” Geonhak says, and then he glances frantically at Seoho’s hands, anticipating bite marks again.

“They healed almost as fast as I made them,” Seoho says. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, as if to emphasize that he’s fine. “Are you sure Yonghoon studies medicine and not black magic?” 

“Very funny,” Geonhak says, although it is a little magical that Seoho had been unable to heal for days during his own rut and now he’s managed to heal within hours. It means that Seoho’s body has a chance at recovering regardless of the damage it’s taken, and Geonhak holds Seoho’s hands in his own, kissing Seoho’s knuckles before he looks up at Seoho. “I’m glad you’re healing.” 

“I can tell,” Seoho says. “You haven’t smiled at me like that in a while.” 

“Because a certain alpha broke my heart and I was trying to recover,” Geonhak says, scrunching his nose, and he ignores Seoho’s irritated _stoppppppp_ in favor of asking, “...Why didn’t you bite me back?” 

“In case you woke up and changed your mind,” Seoho says, and that makes Geonhak frown at him. “I’m giving you forever, but I don’t expect you to do the same until you’re sure of it.” 

“I told you before that I would choose you no matter what,” Geonhak says. He sits up, moving Seoho farther away from the headboard by scooping the junction between Seoho’s ass and hip and pulling him forward. Seoho makes a surprised noise at being dragged around like a doll while Geonhak seats himself comfortably on top of Seoho, straddling Seoho’s hips. 

“What are you trying to do?” 

“A topic sentence is usually followed by additional sentences to support it,” Geonhak says. He grinds down against Seoho, and he can feel Seoho stiffen at the unexpected friction. “No point in telling you I’d always choose you if I don’t show you, too, is there?” 

“It’s still morning,” Seoho says, but he swallows quietly, staying perfectly still for Geonhak to do as he pleases. “Aren’t you tired after just getting out of your rut?” 

“You’re warm,” Geonhak says. It’s comfortable to stay like this, too, and savor every moment he gets to look at a soft Seoho with sleep-sticky eyes and that almost criminal, heart shaped smile. “It’s hard to appreciate every part of you when half my mind was gone because of the rut.” 

“You can, now,” Seoho says. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Geonhak asks. “Will you answer them without hiding anything from me?” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says. 

“You realized we were a true pair at that charity gala around a year ago,” Geonhak says. After that night, Seoho had maintained a distance from Geonhak for a few weeks with misty eyes and held little to no interest in playing his usual pranks. “Right?” 

“I’m surprised you remember,” Seoho says. “But yes.” 

“Yonghoon told me I should reconsider whether I’d ever smelled your scent before your rut, that first day we went into his clinic,” Geonhak says. “I didn’t remember until later.”

“I hadn’t expected it,” Seoho says. “My sister described it enough times that I thought I would know the moment I met the person, but my reaction to you kicked in late because my ruts had been off for years.”

“Off?” 

“Sometimes I didn’t get them at all,” Seoho says. “Other times they’d overlap and cause problems.” 

“Were those because of the heat suppressants?” 

“There’s a high possibility,” Seoho says. “It was a downhill battle after that, because my body had a tendency to go haywire anytime you were close by.” 

“So the day I found you,” Geonhak says. “Was that…” 

“I tracked you across campus by pure instinct,” Seoho says. “The injection I gave myself...it was a last ditch effort to prevent you from finding out but it backfired.” His voice goes flat, but Geonhak can tell it’s not directed at him, and Seoho isn’t attempting to close himself off either. 

“I’m sorry,” Geonhak says, and Seoho furrows his brows, confused. 

“Why would you apologize?” 

“You must have been scared,” Geonhak says. Something akin to surprise and horror floods across Seoho’s features, like he’s completely unprepared for Geonhak to react like this. “You couldn’t tell me what was wrong, and you didn’t know what was going to happen to you because there were no regulations on the suppressants you were using. I’m sorry that you had to endure it alone.” 

“I had it under…” Seoho averts his gaze, and Geonhak knows he’s hit closer to home than Seoho would like, because the word _control_ struggles to make its way past Seoho’s lips. 

“I’m here now,” Geonhak says, leaning in to nose at Seoho’s cheek, and that draws a strained whimper from Seoho. “Aren’t I?” 

“It was really scary,” Seoho half-whispers. The words come out all rough and raw because he’s not used to saying them, which Geonhak is well aware of. Seoho is good at using humor to deflect from the things that plague him whether he’s awake or asleep, so it makes total sense that honesty like this makes him deeply uncomfortable. 

“Why were you willing to go so far when you didn’t even know whether you would survive?” Geonhak asks. He rolls off of Seoho so that he’s no longer putting the majority of his weight on him, but he lets his arm drape across Seoho’s waist and pushes his right thigh in between Seoho’s legs. “There were so many risks.” 

“When my sister found the other half of her true pair, they were excited,” Seoho says. “Two alphas are even more special than an alpha and an omega, after all, especially when one of them is from a wealthy, business family.” 

There’s a shadow lingering behind those words, and Geonhak waits for Seoho to reveal it. 

“I’m sure it sounds ridiculous,” Seoho says, and Geonhak shakes his head, offering reassurance in a brief squeeze of Seoho’s arm. “That I wanted to bolt as soon as I knew why we were drawn to each other.” 

“No,” Geonhak says. “It’s not ridiculous.” 

“After the excitement wore off, his family got upset when they realized she wasn’t willing to go through with the procedure that allows alphas to have kids if they so choose,” Seoho says. “It didn’t matter that they got along or they were good for each other, because my sister couldn’t give birth to a child.” 

Yonghoon has mentioned the surgery before, and the most definitive thing Geonhak remembers about it is how dangerous it is because the process is still in the early stages of development despite already being in practice. It would be a lot to ask an alpha to go through with it when the rate of success is so low and health repercussions are almost always guaranteed. “That’s so awful, Seoho.” 

“Wolves mate for life, but the rich ones play God,” Seoho says. He heaves out a laugh, the forced, lighthearted type that people who don’t know him well wouldn’t be able to differentiate from his usual, amused giggle. “It’s the same no matter where you go in the world.” 

No proper words come to mind so Geonhak simply squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face closer to Seoho’s neck, hoping to absorb some of Seoho’s nervous energy so that Seoho feels more comfortable. 

“I know you like kids,” Seoho says. “And it’s not...you would never…” he takes in a deep breath. “You’re the type of guy who takes every single one of your responsibilities seriously. That’s what makes you so charming. You would have set your personal desires if you knew that we were a true pair, and I didn’t want you to drop everything just for me, just for a bond that could easily turn from a blessing into a lifelong curse.” 

“Are you saying…” The realization sinks in, building up from a slow, dreadful ache into a crash wave of emotions at an unturned side of Seoho’s devotion rearing its head. “Is this because we’re both alphas?” 

“In the movies, all the love stories are tied up with a pretty little bow,” Seoho says. “Things work out because it’s always about an omega and an alpha. They don’t tell you how to move on when you’re an alpha and the alpha you’re in love with looks at all kids as if they’re the ones who put the stars in the sky, like he dreams of having his own one day.” 

“Seoho,” Geonhak says. 

“You don’t know how you look when you’re...it was terrifying, to think about you gravitating towards me when I clearly wasn’t made for you. We’d find happiness temporarily, and then end up with a partially broken bond that would affect both of us for life.” Seoho’s voice is hollow. “So I thought, only one of us suffering was infinitely better than the other one finding out and suffering, too.” 

“You paid so much attention that you didn’t see anything else,” Geonhak murmurs along the line of Seoho’s jaw. “Were you thinking that far into the future, for me?” 

“How could I _not_?” Seoho asks, question coming out in a sob. “My whole life has been about predicting the worst outcomes so that I can make a detour to avoid them.” 

“People don’t fall in love based on the fact that they can have kids with someone. I wouldn’t have forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with even if you were an omega or a beta,” Geonhak says. “You know that, right?” 

“I know, but I wanted...” Seoho says, trailing off. “But it doesn’t change the trauma that my sister has endured at the hands of people who didn’t bat an eyelash at the possibility of killing her if it meant they had a chance at continuing the family line in that company. Something that started off so wonderful quickly turned ugly, and...” 

“You didn’t want that to happen with us,” Geonhak says, and Seoho nods. 

“I don’t know what I was searching for, how much proof I wanted before it became okay to accept that we’d always be affected by the bond trying to form between us,” Seoho says. “I hoped that if I closed my eyes to it long enough, it would go away, and I would be able to watch you choose me without any self doubt lingering in my mind.” 

“I wanted you before I knew I was allowed to have you,” Geonhak says. “I wanted you then, and I want you now, and I can’t see myself wanting anyone else for the rest of my life. Isn’t that enough to take a leap of faith?” 

“I’m not sweet or kind like you are.” Seoho’s laugh is breathy, a nervous sort of hope mixing in with their scents as he allows Geonhak full access to his neck. Equal parts submission and dominance, giving Geonhak permission to take power away from him because Geonhak always remembers to return it. He’s restless, though, and Geonhak holds Seoho down to make him stop fidgeting so much. “I’m not broken but I’m a little fucked up, and I’m possessive of what’s mine.” 

“You’re forgetting which one of us has been claimed,” Geonhak says, smoothing his fingers over the soft hairs tapering down into a V on the back of Seoho’s neck, right above the bite mark left by Geonhak. The wolf inside of him is settled now, pleased with the fact that there’s always going to be evidence of his presence on Seoho’s body. “Aren’t we all a little fucked up, anyways?” 

“Not like this,” Seoho says. “You’re…” 

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Geonhak says, mildly, and Seoho shudders against him at the implications of that statement. “Do you want to keep me?” 

“Yeah,” Seoho says. “Always.” 

“I don’t want someone sweet or kind anyway,” Geonhak says. “I want an alpha who’s been sleeping underneath sheep’s skin for years, whose laugh is a sound I want to keep in a jar so that I can listen to it whenever he’s not around to get on my nerves.” 

Seoho has kept himself in the dark for so long that he’s forgotten what it’s like to want sunlight on his face, but Geonhak will pull him out into the warmth of the sun and admire the way those blue-silver irises shine with even more brilliance. 

“Sheep’s skin, huh?” Seoho echoes, amused by the comparison, and Geonhak nods. “I wouldn’t mind waking up to this...waking up to you everyday.” 

“You can,” Geonhak says. 

“I don’t know,” Seoho says like he’s pretending to think about it, and the familiar lilt to his voice is enough to make Geonhak roll his eyes even before Seoho’s said anything substantially obnoxious. “Should I? The oblivion of unconsciousness sounds pretty good, too.” 

“You’re so...” Geonhak says. 

“And I like staying in bed,” Seoho says. “What are we going to do about that?” 

“You can wake up to me without ever getting out of bed,” Geonhak says, pitching his voice lower, grinding up against Seoho with a deliberate roll of his hips, and Seoho’s gaze sharpens with alacrity when he realizes what Geonhak means. 

“Best of both worlds, I guess,” Seoho says casually, like he doesn’t care all that much, but he’s betrayed by his unsteady inhale and the satisfying, knee-jerk twitch of his body reacting positively to Geonhak’s. 

“You guess?” Geonhak says, sneaking his hand up Seoho’s shirt and pinching Seoho on the softer part of his stomach, and that gets him a squeaky yelp from Seoho. Geonhak mostly does it to diffuse the way happiness pours over into him from Seoho’s happiness and makes him feel like all the air in his lungs has been knocked out of him. “You’re the worst.”

“You definitely don’t think I’m the worst,” Seoho says, as he grabs Geonhak’s wrists to prevent Geonhak from attacking him further. “That’s not very honest of you when your scent’s going all caramelly again, wolf boy.” 

With a long suffering sigh, Geonhak says, “Shut up, Seoho.” He likes this newfound confidence from Seoho, though, and he’ll keep encouraging it until Seoho has no doubts in his mind about how much Geonhak wants him and how much Geonhak wants to be kept by him. 

“Oh yeah?” Seoho raises his eyebrows, teasing, and of course it’s when he’s at his most obnoxious that Geonhak wants to kiss him even more. “You going to make me?” 

Geonhak straddles Seoho again and doesn’t take himself all too seriously when he leans down and lets his lips brush against Seoho’s ear, fully expecting Seoho to lash out when he hears the words because Seoho despises sappy things even if their delivery is meant to be ironic. “Will you please behave and be quiet for me, my pretty alpha?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho freezes against him, going silent. 

Then Geonhak sees how red Seoho’s ears are, the outer shells rapidly darkening into pure crimson and Seoho’s dark, shadowy curls doing absolutely nothing to hide his embarrassment, and Geonhak laughs in disbelief. “That’s what it takes to shut you up?” 

Seoho’s voice is thick and conflicted as he mumbles, “Fuck you.” 

The words don’t come out as threatening as he’d like to sound, probably, because Seoho has only gotten even harder underneath Geonhak’s ass, and he lets Geonhak pry his hands open so that their fingers can intertwine, unable to refuse Geonhak’s advances. 

“If you would just cooperate, that’d be very possible~” Geonhak says before he sucks at Seoho’s lower lip, and the laugh that bubbles out of Seoho is split between exasperation and amusement even as he parts his lips easily for Geonhak to turn the kiss into an open mouthed one. 

Their wolves collide into each other, bond burning bright and hot between their bodies as it anticipates a whole lifetime ahead of them, and in the presence of a sweet predator who’s allowed himself to be tamed just for Geonhak, Geonhak feels like he’s woken up, too, pulled from the loneliness of winter and plunged into a blazing summer heat made of liquid hazel and silver. 

❂ ❂ ❂

**Author's Note:**

> (crying noises) if u got here,,,,,, thank you for reading.... <3 
> 
> **please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed this! (i will only ask 5000 more times, gently), if u leave a comment or give me headpats i may cry and send u an entire basket of Love in the form of apple carrot muffins**
> 
> also if you like seodo , and you like my writing , i also have a 80k single parent/tattoo artist au that i posted earlier this month you can check out!!! 
> 
> you can find me on twt @ suheafoams but i have nothing to offer you so maybe you should just stay on my ao3 lmao 
> 
> have a good day!!


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